


The Grace of the Fire and the Flames

by chicklette, cobaltmoony



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Biting, Bonding, D/s elements, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, No mpreg, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Scenting, There's a harem, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Wizard Erskine, Wizard Pierce, and an actual hydra, corset porn!, mentions of steve with OFC/OMC, no non-con, steve has such a dirty mouth, what kind of fairy tale do you think this is?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15039809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltmoony/pseuds/cobaltmoony
Summary: Since the day Prince Steven drew his first healthy breath, he's been focused on only one thing:  destroying the many-headed Hydra that's been haunting their lands for decades.  So when he returns from yet another fruitless hunt, the last thing he wants is to discover a new addition to his Royal Harem.  But the new man is intriguing, and his scent is achingly familiar.  Against his better judgement, Prince Steven wants more.Winter arrives in Breukelen with no memory of his past, how he lost his arm, or who he really is.  When the Wizard Pierce gives him a mission to get the Prince under control, Winter doesn't think twice.  He wasn't expecting Prince Steven to be a good man, and Winter has to try to discover whether he should trust the prince - or his programming.When their worlds start to fall apart around them, will they learn to trust each other and the love they've begun to form?  Or will it all crumble to ash?





	1. Prologue and Ch. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chicklette's AN: First, I want to heap piles and thanks and praise on Cobaltmoony! The art prompt is so gorgeous, and I'm so grateful that I got to write the story in my head for this. Thank you so much for all of your support along the way. I have SO appreciated your enthusiasm! 
> 
> Second, much and many thanks to the mods of the RBB. I had such a great time with this last year, and this year it was even better. I'm so grateful for all the work that you do wrangling us cats. This is my favorite event of fandom, and I'm so grateful for everything you do. Thank you!!

 

AN:   Fun fact:  Breukelen is Dutch for “broken land,” and is where Brooklyn gets its name.

Title from the Imagine Dragons Song “Believer.”

**PROLOGUE:**

Begin:

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away named Breukelen, there lived a great king.  Known throughout the land for his both his fairness and his cunning with a sword, King Joseph was the perfect specimen of an alpha and the apple of every young maiden’s eye.  All the ladies of nobility dreamed that he would choose her as a bride. Unfortunately, the king had no desire to wed. His only passion was the hunt.

One day, the king was out with his men, hunting a new danger that had cropped up.  There was talk that a great beast - a many-headed Hydra - was making the local forest its home.  With his subjects too frightened to travel to neighboring kingdoms for trade, King Joseph set about hunting the great beast.  

It was during one of these hunts that the king was wounded.  A great beast came crashing through the forest, and the men all let their arrows fly.  One arrow, and no one knew whose it was – managed to cut its way through the king’s armor, piercing him just above his heart.  As none of his men were healers, all feared the young king would die.

It was truly fortunate then that a young maiden of low birth happened onto the king’s party.  She had been taught healing at her mother’s knee, and within a short time was able to heal King Joseph.  

The king was instantly smitten.  The maiden Sarah had fair hair and blue eyes, and the king was certain that she was the loveliest omega in all the land. Their wedding lasted for seven days and seven nights, and just nine months to the day, a prince was born.

Prince Steven had his mother’s fair skin, fair hair, and blue eyes, but he was a sickly child.  Many in the king’s household feared he would not live to see his name day, and all were certain he would present as an omega at best, and a beta at worst.  Fearing more unrest in the kingdom, the couple swore their household to secrecy while King Joseph sent emissaries far and wide in search of a cure.

One man did come forward.  Wizard Erskine’s elixir was not enough to cure the prince, but it did help him recover for a time.  It was during these times of wellness that the boy learned to sneak out of the castle to play in the king’s private forest.  There was a small brook that ran through it, drawing forest creatures far and wide, and the prince loved nothing more than to sit in the dappled sunlight and put to paper all that he saw.

It became his refuge, and, years later, when the noble king lost his life to the Hydra, the young prince sought out the shady pathways of the forest.  It was there that he began to wield a stick as though it were a sword, and there that he truly began to curse his poor health. He would rage against the fates for making his body small and sickly, even as his mind was bright with ideas about the differences between right and wrong.

It was during this time that prince made – and lost – his first true friend.  Bucky was a boy his age, who had befriended Prince Steven without ever knowing he was the prince.  The pair of them would meet by the shaded brook, sometimes playing rough and tumble games (Bucky never treated Prince Steven as though he was small or sickly), and sometimes only sitting quietly together, talking of their futures as though everything the young boys were dreaming might someday come to pass.  Once, they’d even built a small suspension bridge over the deepest part of the creek, Bucky dreaming up the design, and Steve drawing it out, the two of them foraging for saplings and felled branches.

They were very best of friends, the two of them, and nothing could come between them.  After all, they’d pinky promised.

“You’re going to be an alpha,” Prince Steven once said.  “I can tell.”

Bucky didn’t know much about his friend, but he knew that men built small and frail, as his friend seemed to be, often never presented at all, or if they did, it was almost always as an omega.  After all, who’s ever heard of a small, fragile alpha?

So Bucky would hush up talk of designations, and instead, the two would play fighting games, or Bucky would tell his friend tall tales of old, while the little prince drew all that he saw in his mind’s eye.  Often, the king’s guards would find the pair of them piled together, dozing in the shade with the brook babbling nearby. Queen Sarah had given the strictest of orders that her son never be disturbed while he was at play.

All in all, it was an idyllic time in the young prince’s life.

Until, that is, the year that the white winter came.  With it was the white plague, a coughing illness that seemed to consume its victims from the inside out.  Queen Sarah, being kind-hearted, and just as brave as her husband, spent many of her days tending to those who were ill.  It was a matter of time, then, before she took ill herself.

The winter was rough on Prince Steven, too.  While the plague didn’t come for him, all manner of other illnesses did.  It was then that a young wizard named Pierce came to the kingdom. He boasted of an elixir that could cure even the weakest of men, but he had only one dose.  Though very ill herself, Queen Sarah insisted that the wizard give the potion to the prince.

Prince Steven, of course, would have none of it.  What was the use in living if his mother wouldn’t be there to guide his way?  Ultimately, the wizard tricked the young prince into taking the elixir. Watching in horror, Prince Steven grew stronger, as the young queen seemed to waste away.

“Mother,” he’d cried, sobbing at her bedside.  “I cannot lead without you. How will I know what is right?”

“My darling boy,” she said.  “All that you need is within you.  You cannot help but become a great leader, so long as you remain a good man.”

The prince sobbed as his mother passed, and the country was plunged, once again, into mourning.

By the time Prince Steven was strong enough to venture past the palace walls again, he searched far and wide for his friend, Bucky.  Unfortunately, while the price struggled with his health and the death of his dear mother, his friend had volunteered to fight against the Hydra.  According to all reports, he had died a valiant death.

With no one left that he could trust, the prince turned, in his grief, to the Wizard Pierce.  His mother had trusted the wizard, and he had cured Steve of his lifelong illnesses. The young prince didn’t always agree with the wizard, but on the whole, he felt that the wizard wanted what they all did: the destruction of the Hydra and a return to peaceful times.

Like his father before him, the prince became known for his bravery, his skill in fighting, and his fair looks.  With the help of Pierce’s elixir, he’d grown to be tall and well-muscled, but like his father before him, he had no desire to wed.  What was the purpose of seeking happiness, when it all could be stolen away, in the space of a single, nasty winter?

Instead, the prince focused on fighting the beast and avenging his father’s death, a task he’d sworn to complete before his twenty-fifth name day, when he would be crowned king. Until that time, the kingdom was ruled by a small council, made up of nobility and merchants, and the kingdom’s General, Ser Nicholas Fury.  

As far as Prince Steven was concerned, they could rule Breukelen forever.  The Hydra had taken Steven’s father, his best friend, and too many good men to count.  His thoughts focused only on vengeance.

And that, friends, is where our story begins:

 

**CHAPTER 1**

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this _was_ a good trip,” Sam says, holding his horse’s reins loose in his hands.

“How can you say that?” Steve asks.  “We didn’t find anything!” His horse snuffles, recognizing the path that they’re on as the one that leads home.  She’s anxious to get home. Everyone is.

They’ve been hunting the Hydra that lives in the forest of Steve’s kingdom for the last two weeks but found nothing more than an old nest, riddled with the bones of livestock.  Everyone in the prince’s party is bone-tired with exhaustion – everyone but the prince, that is.

“Not true,” Sam says, slumping a bit in his saddle.  “We know where it isn’t. And we know there’s still only one.”  The unspoken fear throughout the kingdom has been that another Hydra would appear and that the pair would breed.  Happily, the abandoned nest that they found bore no signs of a mate – or a hatchling.

“We’ll just…have to try again,” the prince says, and Sam gives him a wary eye.  “What?”

“Look, I’m not saying we shouldn’t be doing this,” Sam starts, and Steve already knows what’s coming.  “I know how much this hunt means to you, and you know I understand how important it is. But Highness, you’re to be crowned in six months’ time.  Mayhap you could save some energy for finding a bride…or a groom.”

Steve sighs.  It’s always the same conversation, no matter who it’s with:  Settle down, find a mate, bond, give the kingdom a reason to celebrate, after so many years of darkness.

“You know I don’t care about that.”

“I know,” Sam answers, and that’s one of the things that Steve loves about him.  Regardless of how difficult Steve is being, Sam always finds an easy way to say what’s on his mind.  

“You don’t have to come on every hunt, Sam.  You have a life – people to take care of. I understand.”  The only time Sam had ever missed a hunt was when he was in rut or Riley was in heat.  The two had bonded quickly once they met, and Steve was forever in awe of the pair. They blended work and their bond so effortlessly.  It reminded Steve of his parents, how they were always in sync with one another.

“Then you understand why I have to do this.  Hunting the Hydra - I’m not saying give up. I’m saying that maybe you should work on getting a life of your own.”

Steve nods, but says nothing.  What can he say? He has a harem full of men and women, all of whom are trained to service him.  Men and women - omegas and betas - from his kingdom and neighboring kingdoms have lined up to present themselves for marriage, and while Steve knows that at some point he’s going to have to choose, he hates the idea of it.  Everyone he’s ever loved is gone, and the Hydra is to blame. Their lives are too precarious while the Hydra still haunts their lands.

As they ride on, Steve’s thoughts drift back to when he was a child, back to Bucky.

He’s never gotten over the loss of his first friend.  Steve was never sure whether Bucky knew he was the prince, but he’d never treated Steve like anything but his best friend: never bowed and simpered, never held back from telling Steve off when he thought he was wrong, but never shied away from backing the smaller boy up, either.

When Steve’s body finally caught up to his heart, he realized that while he admired Bucky for being brave and strong and good, he also admired him in another way, a decidedly more than friendly way.  He never had the chance to find out if Bucky felt the same, but when Steve remembers those long, lazy days by the creek, he thinks that maybe Bucky did. The vicious part of him hopes so, if only because it hones the razor of his regret, keeps it sharp so that he always remembers what he owes to his kingdom, to the world.

By the time they arrive at the castle, Sam has just enough energy to hand off his horse to a stable boy before slouching off to his rooms, exhausted.  Steve invites him over for a drink, anything to delay the inevitable, but even he can see that Sam is dead on his feet.

When Steve approaches his rooms, he finds Sitwell dithering in the foyer.  His clothes are tailored as though he’s a little lord himself, and not the manager of Steve’s harem.  

When Pierce suggested the harem, Steve balked.  His grandfather had done away with the practice, and Steve’s own father hadn’t seen fit to resume it.  

“You’re unmated, and now that you’re healthy, you’ll have your first rut.  The people need to know that their prince is healthy and virile - a real man!”

Steven finally relented, and regretted it nearly every day since, particularly on those days when he had to deal with Jasper Sitwell, a lesser Baron from one of the outer reaches of the kingdom, but one that Pierce had taken quite a liking to. Maybe because of the wizard’s favor, but Sitwell always seemed a bit slimy to Steve.  Obsequious, his mother would say. Perhaps it was the way he dressed and acted, as though he good friends with the prince, and not merely the manager of the royal harem.

“Prince Steven!” Jasper says. “The gods bless us that you have returned!”

“I always do seem to manage that, don’t I?”  

His dry tone is lost on the older man.

“And thanks be to the gods for that!  I imagine after such a long time away, you would like to partake of your princely rights?”

“I...I think I’m good.  It was a long, hard trip, and I’d like nothing more than a meal and a bath.”

“Nonsense!  Our prince is strong enough to slay a dozen Hydras, and return home to satisfy a hundred partners and then some!  Now, who shall I send? March? She was particularly distraught that you’d been gone so long. Or perhaps February?  You know how he misses you while you’re away.”

The last thing he wants is to entertain.  But, he knows that if he turns Sitwell away, that Pierce will be at his door within the hour, another of his foul-smelling potions in hand, waiting to….

“You know what?” Steve says, “Send up October.  I’m still feeling a bit keyed up after all.”

“Very good, Highness.  Shall I send the new boy as well?  Wizard Pierce found him. We call him Winter.  A bit rough around the edges, but Pierce thought you might enjoy a bit of...rough now and then.”

Steve’s blood boils.  His proclivities are his and his alone.  He would never dream of forcing his more base desires onto an unwilling partner.  It’s bad enough he wants these things. He will not have someone like Sitwell gossiping about him.  

“Sitwell, you forget yourself,” Steve says, his voice loaded with menace.  And...the last thing in the world he wants is yet another member of his harem.  Bad enough there are twelve of them - one named for each month of the year, though they arrived at all different times.  Now they’ve moved on to the seasons. What’s next? Number fourteen named Summer?

“Of course, Highness,” Sitwell says, affecting a bow as he leaves the room.  “I got a bit carried away in my excitement. October will be up shortly.”

As the door closes behind him, Steve can only feel relief.  He knows with Peggy he’s bought himself a few hours of peace.  She is the companion he’s known the longest, and she knows that he values her more for her sharp mind than her soft body.  

Oh, they’d enjoyed each other once upon a time, but that was long before Peggy fell for the omega maiden Angie, who went by the name of March.  It wasn’t unheard of for an omega and beta to choose one another. Besides which, Steve always thought Peggy had more than a little alpha in her than her beta nature implied.  

He’d long since confided in her his unhappiness with the forced games of the harem, and they’d hatched a plan that when he wasn’t up for pretending with one of the others, he would call for her, and they would spend a lovely evening together, keeping up the facade.  When he did face rut, there were a number of omegas in his harem to choose from. February, in particular, seemed to fulfill Steve’s need to own, to possess - to please.

And outside of rut, Peggy helped him keep up pretenses.  Now and then he invited Angie along as well, and he would leave the two of them to enjoy an evening to themselves, while he retired to his study, ever plotting the Hydra’s demise.

If he couldn’t have the peace he sought tonight, at least with Peg, he wouldn’t have to lie.

 

“What is it, darling?”  Peggy watches him with bright brown eyes.  Her intelligence is what drew him to her, and her manner of treating him not as a prince, but as a decent man.  He always aspires to be his best self when her gaze is upon him.

“I’m only frustrated,” he says.  “I’d hoped this time….” He doesn’t have the say the rest.  The entire kingdom knows that the latest hunt was a failure.  “It’s grown nearly twenty heads,” Steve says. “No matter what we do, they keep growing.”

“And you’ve not found a way to pierce it’s hide?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head.  “The Starks are working on it.  Howard is away, scouring other lands for a metal that might be stronger than our steele, and young Tony persists with his many inventions.  I pray they find something that will help.”

Peggy gives a sympathetic hum and pours Steve another glass of wine.

“Anyway, that’s enough of my misery.  Tell me about you. How’s Angie? Catch me up on the latest gossip.”

And so Peggy does, filling Steve in on all that he’s missed, including Sitwell’s rather embarrassing attempts at currying favor with the local Marquess.  When it was revealed that the man would not be inviting Sitwell to dine at his table, and had only been indulging Sitwell in an attempt to win the approval of the wizard Pierce, well, the entire castle had been in stitches.  

“We shouldn’t laugh,” Steve says, trying to swallow a giggle.

“Yes,” Peggy says, her laugh rich and throaty, “we should.”

As their evening draws to a close, Steve checks in with Peggy on the health and well-being of the harem.  Some, like February, had eagerly joined the service and were somewhat dismayed that the prince did not call on them regularly.  Others, like Angie, had joined as a last resort, and had been thrilled to discover that while the prince did have a healthy appetite, he would never force himself upon any of them. While Prince Steven did enjoy her company, they’d never lain together, and indeed, never would.  Not that anyone else needed to know that. To hear Miss March tell it, Prince Steven was the most virile of men. For who else but the most virile of men could take on both March and October, at the same time?

“And…?” Steve says, just as Peggy stifles a yawn.  “You’re holding out on me.”

Peggy has the good grace to look abashed.  “He’s lovely,” she says, speaking of the newest addition to the harem, Winter.  “Tall, well-built, with long dark hair and very pretty eyes. I think you’ll like him.  Be careful, there.”

“Oh?”

“You know how much interest Pierce takes in the harem.  The word is that he chose Winter, especially for you.”

“What’s he like?”

“I don’t know, really.  Keeps to himself. Won’t tell anyone his real name.  He...he often has bad dreams, but when Angie or any of the others try to comfort him, he pushes them away.  I can’t say I understand it.”

“But you think I need to be wary?”

“I think that Pierce tires of you being your own man.  Maybe he thinks Winter will bring you to heel.”

“Then he’s a fool,” Steve says.  

“Indeed.”

When Steve walks Peggy to the door, he can’t deny that his curiosity is piqued.  “Send him up, would you? I want to take a look at this Winter.”

“Steve,” Peggy says, laying a hand on his arm.  “Be careful? Remember all I’ve said?”

“I know, Peg.  But Pierce did save my life.  And he’s brought much to this kingdom - our wealth is increasing, our fields are at their peak, and our people are content.”

“Humor an old friend, then, would you?”

“I’ll try,” Steve says, and he can see from her face that she knows it’s the best she’ll get.

After she leaves, Steve calls the maid to draw him a bath.  Breukelen is peppered with natural hot springs, and Howard Stark figured out a way to pipe the water into the castle.  It’s not fit for washing clothes or cooking, but the mineral-rich water is always soothing on Steve’s tired muscles.

Steve’s not planning on touching the new man tonight, but he’s days past a bath, and his skin feels grimy to his touch.  He only wants to meet Winter before getting clean and taking to his bed at least until dawn.

When there’s a knock at the door, Steve calls out for the man to come in.  He’s taken off the top half of his uniform, wearing only his breeches and boots.  Part of him is looking forward to the bath, but the other part of him wants to show off a bit.  Pierce’s elixir made his body strong and fast, and he heals more quickly than any man should. He’s wondering if he’ll see admiration in Winter’s eyes.

The man steps in, and he’s clothed in a simple pale robe.  Steve can see from the cut of it that Winter is strong, the robe straining across his chest and arms.

“There’s a mask beside the door,” Steve says.  “Put it on.” He learned long ago that he enjoys a bit of playacting with his harem.  Masks and ropes and even small doses of pain, anything that will heighten the pleasure.   Anything that will secure their surrender.

Steve chose a black mask for Winter, one that covers the top half of his face, with a lacey, almost winged effect toward the top.  One look at Winter told Steve he’d chosen well. The dark mask combined with Winter’s creamy skin to a stunning effect.

How a new concubine reacts to the mask tells Steve much about how disposed they will be to the other things he enjoys.   Some tremble in pleasure, others in fear. Others thrill with the discovery of desires they never knew they had. Steve wonders which one Winter will be.

“Come here,” Steve says as he sits in his favorite chair, the one opposite the big mirror.  The man pads over, his bare feet silent on the thick rugs.

“Are you here of your own volition?” Steve asks, watching Winter closely as he answers.  

With downcast eyes, he replies, “Yes, Highness.”

“And you wish to be in my service, not because you’re frightened or paying a debt, but for the pleasure of it?”

“Yes, Highness.”

“Why then?” Steve asks.  “Why did you choose this?”

“Highness?”  The man flicks his eyes up to Steve, just for a moment, before he visibly gets control of himself and casts them down again, but the tick is something Steve wants to examine.

“I...everyone speaks well of you.  They say that you - that you’re - they say….”

Steve huffs his exasperation.  “ _They_ say a good many things about me, not many of which are true.  Aren’t you worried you’ll be disappointed?”

Winter shakes his head no.

“Well, you seem very sure of yourself.  I’ll give you that.” Something about the man’s posture makes Steve want to reach out and touch him, lay a gentling hand on his shoulder.  The protective alpha in him can’t stand to see an omega in distress, especially one under his protection.

But that means getting close enough to scent him, and Steve would rather not go there just yet.

“I just...I want….”  Winter tapers off, and Steve can see a lovely flush at the tips of his ears.  The uncertainty doesn’t quite feel right to Steve, natural. There’s something a bit off about Winter, but he’s not quite sure what it is.

He hears Peggy’s admonishment to be careful again, and decides to heed her advice.

“Yes?” he asks, his voice going dry.  If Winter _is_ loyal to another master, Steve will have no compunctions releasing him from service and exiling him.  He has enough to worry about with the Hydra. He doesn’t need to add treason to the list.

“I’ve never had an alpha before, during heat,” the man says in a small voice.  “I thought this would be a good option.” Steve thinks he’s never been more surprised.  

“You...how?  How have you managed for so long?”  It’s typical for an unmated alpha and omega to come to an arrangement.  Heat and rut without a partner can be painful; self-pleasure only goes so far.

The man shrugs and looks down, like he’s ashamed, or embarrassed, but says nothing more.  

Steve closes his eyes as his entire view of Winter shifts.  

It could be a ploy to earn Steve’s trust.  Or...it could be that circumstances drove Winter to endure his heats alone.  Steve can’t be sure. Either way, Winter is in his service now, and Steve’s intrigued enough to want to test the waters, see how Winter responds.  He wasn’t planning on going here yet with Winter, but desire is quickly overwhelming his own good sense.

“Very well,” Steve responds.  Maybe if he gives Winter a little test, he’ll learn more. “Pleasure yourself.”

The man startles, and almost raises his eyes to Steve, but then stays himself.  “Highness?” he asks.

And at once, Steve is angry.  He never wanted the harem, and it’s just one more responsibility in a string of responsibilities.  He doesn’t want to have to learn another person again, how to please them, how to keep them satisfied, because above all else, that _is_ his job here.  

People think having a harem would be wonderful, the height of self-indulgence, but it’s not.  There are five omegas in his care, and he has to see to each of their heats. There are twelve -no, _thirteen_ \- people who look to him not just for physical satisfaction, but for affection, too.  There’s so much more to it than fucking - something Sitwell and his ilk don’t seem to understand.

Steve leans back in the chair.  He’s tired and sore and angry. The last thing he wants is to break in another fucking concubine.  He never wanted the damned harem to begin with, and now this.

Sometimes he wishes he would just find a mate already and be done with it.  But mates...love...those are things not meant for men like him. The things he wants - craves - they keep him apart from other men.  Better men. Men who aren’t selfish to the core.

It’s a shame though:  There is something about Winter.

Turning his attention back to Winter, he decides to get on with it.  “Would you rather pleasure me?” he asks, and presses a palm against his soft cock.

“That’s why I’m here,” Winter says, and Steve sighs.

“Then what’s stopping you?”  He opens his arms wide and shifts in the chair, eyes on the mirror opposite him.  His shield, a gift from Howard Stark, is set just beside it, and Steve almost has to close his eyes.  It’s a reminder of everything he’s meant to be, and everything that he’s not.

He watches in the mirror as Winter kneels before him.  With deft fingers, Winter opens Steve’s breeches and pulls out his cock.  

“Sire?” Winter asks, when confronted with Steve’s lack of excitement.  “Are you…?”

“I’m bored, is what I am,” he answers, and tries not to sigh again as Winter begins to stroke him to firmness.  He feels the touch of something cool, and looks down to see Winters fingers on him, but half of them are metal.

Laying his hand over the metal digits, Steve stares at them in wonder.  “What…?” He traces the metal up past Winter’s wrist, to his forearm, and then his elbow.  Steve pushes aside Winter’s robe, and barely stops himself from flinching. The metal joins flesh at Winter’s shoulder, a mess of scarring at the joint.  It looks painful.

“Are you hurting?” Steve demands, knowing that his tone is harder than it should be.  Winter seems to fold in on himself, as though fearing that the prince is judging him, and finding him wanting.

“No, Highness,” he says, keeping his eyes to the ground.  “It doesn’t hurt.”

Steve holds Winter by the chin, forcing his face up to look Steve in the eyes. “Don’t lie to me,” he says, his voice low.  “Don’t ever lie to me.”

“I...I’m not...sir.”  Winter doesn’t look away and Steve sees the truth in his eyes.  

His eyes.  Oh.

There’s something...they’re the softest blue Steve has ever seen, but cold, icy.  No wonder they call him Winter.

“Please,” Winter says, casting his eyes away again.  “Let me please you.”

Steve rests against the back of the chair, mind reeling.  There’s something about Winter. Something compelling. He doesn’t want Winter to fail, not this first test. With a deep breath, he forces himself to relax.  

“I’ll give you a choice,” he says.  “You can pleasure me, or you can pleasure yourself.  Choose one.”

“Which will please you most?” Winter asks.  

“Which do you think?” Steve answers.

Winter looks around the room, and for a moment, Steve gets his hopes up.  They’re dashed, however, when Winter’s face becomes determined.

“I choose you,” he says, and returns to his ministrations.

So it’s like that, Steve thinks.  Yet another who thinks that the fastest way to Steve’s favor is through his body.  He watches in the mirror as Winter brings him to hardness, and then takes Steve in his mouth, licking and sucking in that beautiful, direct way that men have.

He sighs, suddenly eager to get it over with.  While Winter’s mouth is warm and lovely, what Steve longs for now is the bath.  At least it should be cooled enough by the time Winter is done. As he watches in the mirror, he notices that Winter is giving it his best effort...and that he’s hard.

Looking down, he sees Winter’s face, eyes closed as though in bliss, and Steve wonders if he was wrong after all.  Winter pulls off of Steve’s cock, breathes deep, and whines, high and soft in the back of his throat. It’s gorgeous.

“The thing about watching someone pleasure themselves,” Steve says, and Winter does not falter in his movements, returning to suck Steve, strong and steady. “Is that you learn so much.  Do they start out slow and easy, letting the pleasure build and crest? Or do they get right to it, diving in and going hard, chasing after a quick, but satisfying orgasm. Do they touch themselves all over?  And is it quick or slow? Are they shy with an audience, or do they enjoy another’s eyes on them? Is it all part of a show? If you’d chosen to pleasure yourself, I would know all these lovely little things about you, and the next time we’re together, I would be able to make it that much better.  Instead, I suppose we’ll have to stumble along, now won’t we?”

Steve feels his orgasm building, and he can tell already that it isn’t going to be wonderful.  It’s not going to be the full body, all-encompassing high he gets from holding someone else’s will in his hands.  Instead, it will be perfunctory, serviceable, but -

Winter whines and Steve’s eyes fly to the mirror.  He can see Winter’s cock hanging heavy between his legs, leaking to a puddle on the floor.  Winter’s scent hits him then, full-on in a way that hits Steve in the gut. It’s warm and dark - burnt sugar and peat.  Something about it pulls at his mind, in a heavy, visceral way. His stomach clenches.

“Oh,” Steve says, and in the next breath he comes, hard, and quick, and satisfying in a way he wouldn’t have believed, only a moment ago.

When he opens his eyes and looks down, Winter is licking his lips, a smear of Steve’s spunk on his cheek.  He’s breathing hard and looks beautiful, half of his face obscured by the mask, lips ruddy and wet. Steve bends forward and thumbs away the smear on Winter’s cheek, then slides his thumb between Winter’s lips.

“Look at you,” Steve breathes, as Winter fastens onto his thumb, sucking hard and moaning.  “Oh, you’re perfect,” Steve says. “You liked that so much, didn’t you?” he asks and Winter only nods his head, breathing fast.  

“Show me,” Steve says.  “Show me how you come.”

Winter’s metal hand flies to his cock and with only a few quick tugs, he comes, back arched and keening, spurting wet all over his own chest.

As he comes down, he presses his face against Steve’s knee, and Steve watches in the mirror, the way his back heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve says, scratching his fingers across Winter’s scalp.  “Thank you, for showing me.”

“Are you...did I...?” Winter gulps for air and Steve pets a hand across his shoulder.  There’s something vaguely pleasing about his uncertainty. His sincerity in wanting to please Steve - it’s not like the others, who try to please him out of obligation...or fear.  

As though he would want their fear.

Looking down into Winter’s eyes, he sees that earnestness again, and finds he’s not quite ready to let go.  “You were perfect,” he says. “Now come. The bath will go cold.”

He helps Winter to his feet, and the two of them walk to the bath.  Steve steps in and lays back, before tugging Winter down with him. That scarred shoulder is bringing out a fierce protectiveness in Steve, and then there’s Winter’s eyes...they remind him of something, but he can’t recall what.  

It makes him feel loose and easy, the way he sometimes is with Peggy.  

When Winter attempts to wash Steve, Steve stays him.  

“Just rest,” Steve says, and presses Winter’s head to his shoulder.  “Just...be here, with me.”

Winter lays his head on Steve’s chest, and Steve catches that scent again, only this time it’s not laced with arousal, or even fear.  There’s maybe contentment in the scent, and something...hopeful? Steve puts it out of his mind, relaxing in the warm water, Winter’s weight against his chest.

They stay that way until the water cools, and it’s with some regret that Steve finally washes up and sends Winter back to the harem.  The prince seldom allows any of them to sleep with him at night.

Winter isn’t the only man in the castle with nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Winter gets to his room, he’s trembling.  He’d called up enough bravado to give Sitwell a smirk in passing, but once he closed the door behind him, he found himself on his knees, shaking all over.  

What the hell was that?

From the moment he’d looked into Prince Steven’s eyes, he’d felt overwhelmed.  There was power there, curiosity, but kindness, too. And his scent! There was something so familiar...Winter couldn’t place it, but it was something like a shaded forest, cool and sweet.  It felt safe.

He runs his hands over his body, remembering the feeling of the prince’s hands on him, and finds he’s getting hard all over again.  Gods, the way Prince Steven spoke to him. He feels lit up everywhere, but it’s wrong. It’s bad.

He knows it’s bad.

Prince Steven is his mission.  Nothing can change that.

And once he completes his mission, then he’ll be free. Free to do what?  He doesn’t know. But surely freedom is better than - 

A knock on the door breaks him free of his musing. Before he can say anything, the door opens. and Sitwell enters.  

“Well?” he asks, eyes gleaming.  “Don’t keep me waiting - you know Pierce is expecting a report. 

“It went well,” Winter says, eyes cast down.  He doesn’t look any of them in the eye. He’s been trained. 

“How well?  Did he give you the mask?”

“Yes, sir.  He...he let me touch him.”

“Oh, that is good.  Pierce will be pleased.  Anything else?”

“He...have we ever met before?  He seemed….”

Sitwell laughs, cold and derisive, and Winter cringes back from the sound.  “Pierce said you were funny. Really though, in what world would you have met the Prince?  Or do you need me to remind you how Pierce found you? Lost in the forest, bleeding out? Out of your mind with infection?  Did you know the Prince...I’ll have to tell Pierce that. He’ll enjoy your delusions of grandeur.”

“I’m sorry,” Winter says, and tries to shrink in on himself again.  

“Don’t be sorry, just do your job.  That’s all anyone here wants from you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I won’t lock you in tonight, but see that you don’t wander off.  Pierce may want to speak with you himself.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Sitwell leaves, Winter holds his stance for maybe minutes, maybe hours.  There was something about Prince Steven, something about his voice...or was it his eyes?  By the time he comes back to himself, he’s not sure how much time has passed. His mind is funny like that: sometimes he loses time in big chunks or little slivers.  Sometimes he goes to sleep, only to wake up minutes later, screaming over dreams he can’t ever remember. Pierce usually gives him an elixir to help, something to keep the dragons at bay.  

Winter wishes he had some of it tonight.   He was worried, there in the bath, that Prince Steven might want him to stay the night.  How was he going to explain the nightmares? He couldn’t call for Pierce, not there with the prince.  All he needs to do is get closer, let Prince Steven think that he can trust Winter, let his guard down.

It shouldn’t be so hard, should it?  Not if he gives Prince Steven what he wants.

Now, all that Winter has to do is figure out what that is. 

.

Steve wakes up the next morning feeling more rested than he has in a very long time.  His dreams, for once, were peaceful. He dreamed of being a boy, back when his mother was alive and ruling, and everyone in the kingdom loved and adored her.  He dreamed of how he used to sneak out of the castle, to the King’s private forest, and would lay beside the creek and draw, or sometimes find a stick and pretend that he was healthy and big and strong, and was fighting the Hydra himself.  He used to pretend that he was able to slay the Hydra, and brought its still, dead heart to his mother, that she could see with her own eyes that the beast was gone. 

It was the dreams, he thinks, that fuel him on as he spars with Sam the next morning.  Several of the harem come out to watch; he sees Peggy and Angie, February, December, and...is that Winter?  

Steve smiles to himself as he parries, then rounds on Sam, bringing up his shield to block Sam’s sword, then bringing up his own sword to strike..  Sam realizes his error just as the blow hits. He goes down and puts up a hand. 

“Mercy, Highness.”  

Steve grins at Sam’s smile, and leans down to help him up. 

“Thanks for the fight,” he says, “if that’s what you call fighting.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Sam asks.

“Oh, that’s how it is,” Steve answers with a laugh.  The two of them put their practice swords and shields away, and head toward the castle.  When Steve looks over his shoulder, he sees several of the harem, but not Winter. Did he just imagine him there?

“What do you say after lunch, we ride out toward the islands?” Sam asks.  “Maybe take the ferry over, dine with the Starks? I’ve heard Howard is expected any day now.”

“Mmmm,” Steve answers.  On any other day, he would.  But something about his dreams last night has made him restless, and he doesn’t think he has it in him to sit idly at a dinner table, making small talk, even if it is at the table of one of his friends.  “Besides,” Steve says, “I believe our Quartermaster was looking forward to our return.”

Sam’s grin grows wide, and Steve would swear that he can see a blush on Sam’s cheeks.  “Go on. I’m sure Riley’s dying to see you.”

“MIght already have done,” Sam confesses.

“Oho!  Is that what’s got you moving so slow today?”

“Oh, shut up,  _ Highness _ .”

Steve grins but bids Sam farewell.  He has small council meeting after lunch, but for now, he wants to take Maximus out for a ride into the King’s Forest.  Last night’s dreams put him of a mind to see the little nook by the creek that he loved so much as a boy. 

He rides out with a minimal guard.  He’s not expecting to see anyone else there, and he doesn’t.  When he reaches the narrow creek, he’s surprised to see that it’s become muddied with weeds and silt.  It’s slowed to hardly a trickle, and Prince Steven seeks out its source, hoping to reinvigorate the little brook that he’d loved so much as a child.  

It takes some doing, and he gets mud in places that later baffle him, but in the space of a couple of hours, he’s managed to clear enough of the vegetation away to get the little stream flowing once again.  

He sits, resting his back against the trunk of the big tree that he’d loved as a child, and thinks back to those days when he was a boy.  He used to bring a sketchbook and pencils or pastels with him, and while away the afternoons, the sun warming in a way that all the furs in the kingdom could not.  Bucky would sit quietly by his side, sometimes weaving a crown of flowers for his sisters, sometimes a crown of reeds for himself and Steve. They would put on their crowns and pretend to joust, Bucky often falling to his knees, letting Steve win their “duel.”  

Except, it never felt like he was letting Steve win.  Instead, it felt like play, and sometimes it was Bucky’s turn to win, and sometimes Steve’s, but it was always fair in a way that made Steve smile.  If only the kingdom knew how much of fairness Steve had learned at the side of his best friend. 

Now the place holds fond memories, but also a touch of sadness.  Bucky was his first true friend, and Steve hadn’t been able to keep him safe.  He can’t say why Bucky is so much on his mind of late, but he thinks that maybe spending more time here, in his little hidden corner of the world, might do him some good.  

He returns the castle and sits, muscles aching, through yet another small council meeting.  Their grain stores are flush and the people are generally happy. More trade will be needed as the summer comes on.  While the kingdom is largely self-sufficient, wine is best made in the sunnier climes of the south, and the cooking oils they produce are unparalleled.  Much will be needed if they are to preserve the bumper crop of spring citrus, and Steve’s mouth waters when he thinks of the lemon cakes they will enjoy through the winter.  

As the council disbands, General Fury pulls Steve aside. 

“We have reports that the Hydra is moving south, have you heard the same?”

“Yes, dammit.  If it cuts off our southern trade routes, we’re going to end the year swimming in lemonade rather than wine.”

“It’s almost as though it knows where the men need to be next,” Fury says.

“It’s not that smart.  Is it?” In a way, it would make sense, but nothing he’s seen in fighting the beast reveals a superior intelligence. 

“Not that I’m aware of, but if that’s the case, then how is it anticipating our moves?”

Neither man says it, but they’re both thinking the same thing.  If they’re right, it could mean that someone, or  _ something, _ is controlling the Hydra.  At the very least, that would mean an enemy with a powerful weapon.  At the worst? A traitor in their midst. 

Steve isn’t sure which one to hope for.  

“I trust we can keep our suspicions to ourselves,” Fury says, and Steve nods.  The idea that they may have a traitor amongst them makes Steve’s blood run cold.  He doesn’t know who, or how, but he knows that if they’re truly working against the crown, Steve will find them.  Find them, and end them. 

.

 

Over the next several days, Steve calls for February, April, and May.  He calls for March and October together, and he, Peggy and Angie have a lovely dinner together before he retires to his study, leaving the two of them some much needed alone time. 

Sitting at his desk, he surveys maps of the southern routes and tries to ignore the sounds coming from the next room.  As Peggy’s laughter rings through the air, he realizes it’s not even the sex he misses - it’s the companionship. 

As a child, Steve never wanted for love.  He was often isolated due to his poor health, but his mother spent as much time as possible with him.  He remembers cold winter mornings, bundled onto her lap in front of a fire, as she taught him his letters and numbers, basking in her warmth.  Or long summer days, where she would sit patiently as he showed her his drawings and explained the world of imagination, inside his head. 

He misses having someone who listens to him, who cares what he thinks, who would appreciate his insights, and reign him in when he’s wrong.

With Peggy, he’d had something close.  They admired one another, respected one another.  They still do. 

It’s different now, though.  Now she has Angie, and the warmth, the sparkle, that he used to see in her eyes is reserved for the pretty blonde woman who stole her heart. 

Steve doesn’t begrudge them.  He might envy them, but he doesn’t begrudge them. 

He’s just - he’s being selfish, he realizes. That’s exactly what Pierce would say, and Pierce would be right.  After everything he’s been given in this world - an entire kingdom, for pity’s sake - who is he to ask for more?  

He’s just being selfish. 

 

When it’s been five days, he allows himself to call for Winter again.   He’d spent a lovely few hours fucking February into the floor, but then February was always up for being tossed around a bit.  April and May were each sweet with how they serviced him, but sweet was not what he was looking for. He’d considered August, with his beautiful golden skin and golden hair, but as much as he wants to please Steve, in the end, he has no idea how to do it.  At least February is upfront about wanting to be fucked until he can’t sit right. August doesn’t seem to care if he gets fucked at all. He seems to neither care nor have an opinion about anything at all: a perfectly subservient doll.

Steve hates it. 

All through the days, as he talked with Fury and Peggy, as he sparred with Sam and took intel reports from Natasha, as he played with February, April, and May, through it all, he thought of Winter. 

He wants to see how far he can push Winter - how much he’ll take.  He wants to see what it will take before the man truly comes undone, shaking and keening for release.  He wants to know how much of what he saw was an act - a cleverly designed show - and how much of it was sincere subservience.  He wants to know if Winter likes to be gentled down, soft pets and kind words, once he’s given all he has. Does he like to be held when he sleeps, or does he feel stifled, trapped?  Steve wants to know all of his secrets. 

He  _ wants.  _

When Winter arrives though, Peggy’s words of caution ring in Steve’s ears.  As much as he might want to play with Winter, he knows he needs to be smart.   

He bids Winter to put the mask on and calls him over to the table.  There’s a light supper of meats, cheeses and fruit laid out, along with some hearty bread and good wine.  Steve knows the wine won’t do anything for him - Pierce’s potion saw to that - but he knows it will affect Winter, and he would very much like to see Winter uninhibited.  

Winter, however, seems to have other plans.  While he doesn’t strip and reach for Steve as he did their first meeting, he does appear confused and uncomfortable when Steve shows him to the table and offers him a seat.  He watches Steve eat while making no effort to feed himself, and gives Steve a curious look when his wine glass is filled.

“Will you join me for a glass?” Steve asks, setting the cup closer to Winter.

He watches as Winter quails, his blue-grey eyes taking in the cup, Steve, Steve’s cup, before finally resting on his own hands.

“You don’t  _ have _ to,” Steve says, and he watches as relief physically ripples through Winter. 

_ Oh.  _

“Winter,” Steve starts, then pauses, wanting to be sure he says it right.  “I don’t - you don’t - I have no interest in forcing you to do anything here.  If you chose my service merely because you longed for a roof over your head and food in your belly, then I assure you, that’s all you’ll receive.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Highness,” Winter says.  He doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes and Steve wonders if Winter truly understands. 

“Speak with the others if you need to.  I think you’ll find I’m telling the truth.  I only want to know you better,” Steve says, but Winter still doesn’t react. 

Steve takes a slice of apple from the table and crunches into it, then follows with some cheese and a slice of the spicy cured sausage that is his favorite. 

“Eat what you like, drink what you like,” Steve says.  “This isn’t a prison. Now, tell me something about yourself,” he asks, and Winter looks up at him, eyes wide and somewhat fearful.  

He is - a puzzle.  He is recalcitrant at turns, grateful for any hint of kindness shown, and seemingly terrified of his own shadow, but with the heavy, muscled body of a fighter.  

“What brought you to Breukelen?” he asks, figuring that’s an easy place to start. 

Winter fiddles with the napkin in his lap.  “I...was a soldier,” he says, and Steve looks at the arm.  

“In the Hydra wars?” he asks, not unkind.  His father perished in the first Hydra wars.  They were able to drive the Hydra back and out of the kingdom, but in doing so, spurred a war between his and the neighboring kingdom.  For a time, there were border skirmishes with all of the neighboring kingdoms, until Pierce brokered peace. The peace is new, and fresh, and Steve hopes that it lasts.   He thinks that if they all join forces, maybe they can bring the Hydra down, once and for all. It’s a fragile hope, but some days, he feels it’s all he’s got. 

Winter nods and Steve restrains himself from reaching out.  That fierce protectiveness is bubbling up in him again, and Steve has to work to tamp it down.  Why is he like this? 

Instead, he asks, “Is that what happened?” with a nod to Winter’s arm. 

“I - yes.  I was...badly injured.  A stranger found me, helped me.  I owe him everything,” Winter says, and Steve hears the conviction in Winter’s voice.  It sparks a flare of jealousy that Steve hasn’t felt in years - not since his first time with Peggy, when he’d knotted someone for the first time.  Though she’d chosen the name October for herself within the harem, she was the first recruit to the harem, and Steve was smitten by her direct ways.  He hadn’t wanted anyone to even look at her for weeks after that. Peggy, in typical fashion, had put him neatly in his place, helping him to understand that a knot is not a bond, and that a bond can only be two-sided. 

“It’s beautiful,” Steve says. 

Winter doesn’t say anything, but Steve can see the grimace on his face.  He wonders who created it, who enchanted it. It looks and moves like a real arm, but it’s silver and made up of what must be a hundred little metal plates.  There’s a red star painted into the shoulder, and Steve wants to run his fingers over it. It reminds him the of the star painted onto his shield. 

“And your family?” Steve asks, hoping to keep Winter talking. 

Instead, he watches as Winter visibly shuts down.  “Gone,” he says, eyes on the empty plate in front of him. 

Steve sighs and wants to kick himself.  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know how it feels to miss….”  _ Everyone _ is what he doesn’t say, but it’s what he means. 

“Listen,” he says, coming to a decision.  No matter what he might want of Winter, he’s not going to be comfortable having it until Winter is more comfortable with him.  “I don’t know what you’re expecting here. I’d like to get to know you. If you’ll let me, I’d like to be your friend. It’s up to you, Winter.  When you’re here, I’d like you to make yourself comfortable. Eat, sleep, read - whatever you want. Understood?”

Winter watches him, a look in his eyes that Steve can’t quite place.   It’s something like fear and belligerence; Steve’s not sure what he’s done to earn that look from Winter, but he doesn’t like it. He promises himself that he won’t touch Winter again until that look is gone. 

.

Winter sleeps restlessly, his head full of dreams that make no sense.  He’s a boy, playing in the forest; he’s a man, hunting the Hydra; he’s a child, playing with a sun sprite and warmed by its presence; he’s a man, shivering in the cold.  

When he wakes, the dreams slip away from him like mist in the rising sun, evaporating before he can root them into reality.  They leave behind a sensation of sorrow - of something treasured that is now lost. 

Groaning, he dresses and heads to the baths.  It’s possibly the best part of this mission: constant access to warm baths.  Winter wants to crawl into one and never, ever come out. 

Prince Steven is...he’s confusing.  Bucky has one goal: get close. But the prince, he seems to want something more from him.  Bucky thought this would be easy - be of service to the prince, bide his time, and do whatever Pierce orders next.  This though...he’s not sure what to think. He’d keeps expecting the prince to reach for him, but he never does. 

Maybe next time?  

He’s drawn out of his reverie by the sound of low whispers and then a giggle.  

“Not here, darling,” he hears, followed by soft moan, and another giggle. 

“Please,” he hears, just a whisper, followed by a gasp.  

He’s in the harem’s private baths.  Whoever that is, whatever they’re doing, it’s wrong.  The agreement they make when they come into service is to hold their bodies for the prince, and the prince alone.  Even masturbation is discouraged. 

Winter wants to leave.  He doesn’t want to know what’s going on.  Part of him though, and it’s a part he hates, knows that he should linger.  One never knows what information might one day be useful.

He’s silent, silent, as he slips from the water.  Not a drop splashes, makes a noise. He can’t remember how he knows to do that, but he does.  He picks up the towel next to the bath and wraps it around his hips, all the while creeping steadily closer to the voices he overheard.

When he finally makes his way to the alcove where they’ve hidden, he’s stunned.  March and October - the prince’s _ favorite  _ \- are clinched together, mouths kissing, bodies close and tight with need. If he breathes deep, he can scent them - October’s warm, beta scent, and March’s sweet omega, like vanilla, he thinks, but he doesn’t know how he knows that.

Of all the things he thought he might see, this was never one of them.  It makes Winter wonder about what kind of prince he’s serving if even those he trusts most are willing to betray him, and at such a steep price.

When he’d been brought into the prince’s service, he’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that being removed was service was exile.  He’d be cast out - penniless, homeless, and into a foreign land with nothing but the clothes on his back to shelter him. The prince did not take betrayal of his trust lightly.  

It’s a quandary for Winter.  If he tells the price of their treachery, it would help gain the prince’s trust.  But October has been very kind to him - they both have - and he isn’t sure he can be responsible for their exile.  Winter resolves to keep an eye on the situation, and more importantly, to keep the information from Pierce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chicklette: I've reordered the chapters a bit to even out the pacing, so there *may* only be six chapters, not seven, just FYI.
> 
> You guys have given this fic such a wonderfully warm welcome. I can't thank you enough!


	3. Chapter 3

The next few weeks only serve to confuse Winter more.  Prince Steven is interesting, and seems to be quite kind.  Winter is always ready when the prince calls, and he always dons the mask and mounts the stairs to the Prince’s chambers with anticipation simmering low in his gut. Each meeting, however, runs about the same:  Prince Steven invites him to eat, offers him use of anything and everything in his chambers, talks to him here and there, but otherwise...never touches him. Once he worried that he wouldn’t be able to perform for the prince.  Now he wonders why the prince never reaches for him. 

Winter cringes the next time he enters his own rooms, knowing that Pierce will be unhappy with him.  How long before Pierce casts him away, and what will Winter do then? The elixir Pierce supplies is the only thing that keeps the dragons from his dreams.  His casting is what keeps Winter’s arm in action. He might not like the price he pays to keep his body functioning, but ever since he woke up all those years ago, alone, wracked with pain, and no memory of who or where he was, ever since Pierce found him, healed him, Winter has known only subservience to the man.  

He owes Pierce his life. 

He’s pacing the common area, wondering what more he needs to do to entice the someday-King when Sitwell comes in, asking for October, once again. 

It takes everything Winter has not to explode with frustration.

He would think it has to do with him being a man, but February is a frequent guest of the prince’s, and if even a quarter of the tales he tells are true, Prince Steven takes no issue with fucking a man.  Besides, February always returns reeking of the prince. It stirs a sort of mulish anger in him that he can’t begin to understand. 

To his chagrin, Winter gets hard just thinking about it.  

It’s been so long since his body has known pleasure.  Even that first night with the prince, when he touched himself, it wasn’t really pleasure.  It was perfunctory, and what he knew he must do. It felt good, but good like a sneeze, or like scratching that itch between your shoulder blades.  It felt like relief, not pleasure.

Lately, he’s been feeling a different itch, one he thought he might never feel again.  His body longs to be touched, by hands other than his own. He wants - Gods - he wants to be held down, be opened up.  He wants hands on his skin and fingers inside of him, teeth in his skin. He wants that feeling - so full and still wanting - need so deep he can hardly breathe, his entire being focused only on getting more.  He wants his hair pulled and his mouth used, Gods, his whole body used, again and again until he’s crying with it. He wants - he needs - to be fucked. 

There was a time, not so long ago, that he thought he’d never light with this desire again.  Now, he only wishes it would go away. He has only one goal, and it’s not to satisfy his own needs, no matter how much his body might wish otherwise. 

He worries for a moment that he’s going into heat.  He’s heard about it - the unrelenting need of it - but so far whatever elixir Pierce is giving him has kept him free of the need.  

Something echoes back to him, a dim memory, or maybe it’s just imagination.  He remembers a sensation of heat - burning up from within - and need, a hunger so deep that he was all but helpless to it.  Then a sensation of sweet relief as the desire was quenched, over and over and over. He knows it can’t be a memory - in it, he wants nothing more than to fuck, to fill, to hold someone close.  To  _ knot. _

Winter is an omega.  And last he checked, he doesn’t have a knot. 

He shakes it off, whatever it was.  He needs to get his head back in the game and get on with his mission. Prince Steven is his to seduce, his to enthrall.  Maybe even his to murder. But that? That’s for Pierce to decide. 

The only thing Winter has to do is follow orders. 

.

The next morning, Winter joins the others as they go to the practice yard.  Prince Steven is training, along with Ser Samuel and Lady Natasha. They say she is more deadly than the other two combined, and Pierce wants Winter to learn her style, so that he can beat it, if needs be. 

He watches as the prince and Ser Samuel fight.  Ser Samuel is much like his pet falcon: quick to strike, just as quick to flit away. Lady Natasha is stealthy; she sets up distractions, and then sneaks up on her opponents, striking while their head is turned the other way.  Not the most honorable way to fight, but effective. Winter admires that about her.

Ser Brock of the Prince’s Guard is there as well.  He moves with precisions, but without grace. His style is bold, like that of the prince, but lacks any elegance.  He’s one of Pierce’s men, Winter knows. It shows in how he fights: quick, efficient, and mercenary.

Prince Steven though, he fights in a class all his own.  He is fearless, going on the attack and staying that way until his opponent calls mercy.

It bothers Winter at times, that the prince trusts those who would betray him.  It gladens him to see how well Prince Steven fights, but in the end, he doubts it will save him.  The Wizard PIerce is ruthless and single-minded. If he decides that Prince Steven is in his way, he’ll not pause to run the young prince down. 

“It’ll take more than a quick distraction to save you,” Lady Natasha calls, batting away the falcon as it flies toward her.

“Like this?” Prince Steven says, and hurls his shield her way.  She ducks it neatly, but when she comes up, Ser Samuel has his sword at her throat.  She feints back, then vaults back up, twisting until she’s wrapped around Ser Samuel.  

“Call mercy,” she groans, her grip on him tightening.

“Not on your life,” he says, twisting in vain.

Winter watches her footwork and notes that she’s favoring her left heel a bit.  If Ser Samuel would strike out, the game would be won. Instead, an arrow flies, sure and true, and thunks into the wall just a breath away from Ser Samuel’s head.

“Unfair!” Ser Samuel cries, and when Winter looks across the clearing, Ser Clint is on the parapet wall, his bow already cocked with another arrow.

“That’s my missus,” Ser Clint says with a wink.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Ser Samuel grinds out.  

“You wouldn’t,” the prince says, and a moment later, Ser Clint makes a harried yelp as the prince’s shield comes at him.  While Ser Clint is distracted by the shield, Prince Steven drops down from his vantage point, knocking Lady Natasha aside with a twist, and freeing Ser Samuel.  

Lady Natasha yields, and Ser Clint holds a thumbs up from where he’s landed near the compost patch.  

The gallery laughs and cheers, and February outright swoons.  

Winter pretends that it doesn’t rankle when he sees the prince look up and toss a grin and a salute to the gallery.  

Later, when almost everyone has gone, Prince Steve stays behind, working out some new steps with Ser Samuel. 

They’re blocking in slow motion, creating a pattern that will one day become muscle memory, though Winter isn’t sure just how he knows that. 

“Peter!  Peter, come back here!”

A woman chases after a young boy, maybe eight years old, who runs without stopping, right up to the prince.

“Prince Steven, Prince Steven,” the boy calls.

The prince kneels down until he’s eye level with the boy.  They have a quiet conversation, and then the prince is calling for one of the practice shields.  A few moments later, he’s helping the boy with his grip, showing him how to block and dodge with the shield, a small practice sword in the boy’s other hand.

They go through a few steps, and then Prince Steven waits for the boy to come at him.  He feints, then turns and blocks the boy, but not before intentionally exposing his sword side, and allowing the boy to strike a blow.

“You got me,” the prince cries out, falling to the ground.

Peter has a momentary look of terror on his face, but then it breaks into a grin and a laugh, and Prince Steve leans up, tickling the boy and bringing him in for a hug.

“Your Highness,” the woman says, sketching a curtsey.  “I’m so sorry. He got away from me. Please forgive -”

“Nothing to forgive,” he says, standing and setting Peter on his feet.  “He’s a sharp mind. You should send him to see General Fury when he’s older.”

“Oh, that - that wouldn’t be proper.  I’m sorry, Highness,” she says, and backs away again.  “We’re betas, always have been.” She takes Peter by the hand and walks away, her voice low and scolding as they pass.

A grim look takes over the prince’s face.  “Tell me we’re not still excluding people based on designation.”

General Fury comes up beside the prince.

“If that’s what you want to hear.”

“Dammit, Fury, we talked about this.”

“No, you talked.  I listened. In the end, it’s my army and if I want to recruit alphas, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“A person is more than how they present.  We can’t stunt someone’s potential based on designation.  It’s not right!” The prince lowers his voice. “Aren’t I proof enough of that?”

General Fury scoffs.  “That’s different, and you know it.”  

There’s a grim set to the prince’s mouth, and he squares off his shoulders.

“Look,” Fury starts.  “Once we’re rid of the Hydra, I’ll open up enlistments.”

When the prince doesn’t change his stance, Fury speaks again.  “I promise you. Once the Hydra’s dealt with, I’ll open up enlistments to betas and omegas.  Satisfied?”

“Guess I’m gonna have to be,” Prince Steven replies.  

As they pass, instinct pushes Winter further into the shadows.  He’s not sure what to make of what he’s seen, but he’d bet that Pierce will want to hear about it. 

Now he just has to decide whether or not he’s going to tell him.

.

When he returns to his rooms, Winter finds that Pierce is waiting for him.  It’s uncanny how he does that - comes and goes without anyone noticing him do so.  When Winter asked, Pierce told him that it’s easy to go dim when no one wants to see you anyway.   

Winter still isn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he knows it’s somehow true.  He’s managed the trick himself a time or two. 

“You know, when I chose you for this mission, I didn’t realize you were going to be so ineffective.  Sitwell says he hasn’t even bedded you? Is that right?”

“I’m sorry, Sire.” Winter says, hanging his head in shame.  

“Damn right you are.  Now what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know,” Winter says, and his frustration bleeds through in his tone.  “I’ve tried everything we’ve talked about, but nothing works. He doesn’t want me,” Winter says, and tries not to feel the ache in his gut at those words.  

It’s been troubling him for weeks now, how the prince never touches him - not since that first night.  

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re not really trying.”

“You have no idea-”

“Are you back-talking me?”  Pierce’s hand flies swift, and a stinging hand lands against Winter’s face. His eyes water and he shudders, his entire demeanor going soft and pliant. 

“I apologize, Sire.  It won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t.”  Pierce walks over to Winter’s bed and sits down.  “Now come sit down. I’m sure together, we can devise a strategy that will yield results.”

Winter crosses the room to sit next to the wizard.  He knows better than to try to fight it. There’s nothing he can do that can keep him safe from Pierce.  He’s only grateful that Pierce has an interest in Winter’s well-being, for now. He wants Winter at the peak of health and sexuality, all the better to lure their virile young prince. 

He listens as Pierce spells out all the reasons that Prince Steven needs to be brought under Pierce’s control:  He’s a typical hotheaded alpha, and doesn’t think things through; he’s always spoiling for a fight; he’s idealistic and not pragmatic; he doesn’t understand what it takes to truly keep the kingdom safe.

“Sire, I’m only wondering…” Winter begins, not sure where he’s taking this train of thought.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Are you certain he can’t be trusted?  He seems to care for the people very much.”

“Yes, and that’s exactly the problem.  Our little prince has never known real adversity.  An alpha like him? He’s never had a hard day in his life.  He doesn’t understand that there are enemies from without - and within.  Aren’t you proof of that? He’s foolhardy and too trusting. Mark my words: unchecked?  He’ll lead this kingdom to ruin.

Winter nods along as though he agrees, but deep in his heart, he has doubts. Everything he’s seen shows him that the prince is a good man, and will make a good king.  He’s strong, and empathetic, and seems to have a real desire for fairness and justice for everyone, not just the nobility. He’s heard that Lady Natasha actually defected from another kingdom after coming to Breukelen to spy.  

Realizing that he’s started to tune Pierce out, Winter snaps back to attention.  

“Now then,” Pierce says.  “I’ve put a suppressant into your potion.  We don’t want you going into heat before the time is right.”  Pierce’s tone has gone from cold and threatening, to kind and confiding.  It makes Winter’s head spin.

“When will that be, Sire?”

“It will be when I tell you,” Pierce snaps, then takes a deep breath.  “I’m counting on you to start making some progress,” he says, tone gentling again.  “Your work here will shape the kingdom for generations to come. It’s important that you take your potions when you’re told, do you understand?”  

“Yes, Sire.”

“Alright, then,” Pierce says, and stands to leave. With his hand on the door, he turns and looks at Winter.  “You know, sometimes I forget what a mess you were when I found you. You’d be dead without me. My spellwork is the only thing that kept you alive, only thing that keeps that arm of yours working.  It’s funny. I look at you now, and wonder just what it would take to put you back there - alone, penniless, bleeding out on the road. You know I honestly almost passed you by? I didn’t even think you were alive.”

As Pierce speaks, Winter begins to turn in on himself, shoulders slumping and head bowing.

“Ah, well. Listen to me go on - my head gets away from me sometimes.  See that you get some rest, will you? I worry about you, you know.”

With that, Pierce leaves and Winter slumps over on the bed.  He holds the metal hand in front of his face and wiggles the fingers.  The movement, the sensitivity, it’s a perfect match for his right hand.  

Pierce doesn’t have to make bold, stark threats.  Winter hears exactly what he’s saying: Get Prince Steven under control, or else. 

That evening, as Winter walks the space between sleep and wakefulness, he hears the Prince’s laughter in his head.  It’s low and delighted, and though Winter has never heard it himself, he’s certain of what it sounds like. He can see the prince’s eyes: dark blue with a shimmer of green, just near the iris.  The way he looks - joyful - warms Winter from the inside out. 

.

Steve paces the small council meeting room.  The Hydra continues to move south, and with it, their hopes of trading away their summer harvest.  He looks over the map, plotting a new course through a mountain pass.

The way would be dangerous; there’s no smooth road, and even at the height of summer, there’s bound to be snow.  It’s that, or spend the winter drowning in the scent of rotting fruit, dreaming of wine. 

He’d like to get Sam’s take on it.  His right hand man is keen with sword, but he has a feel for seeing pitfalls that Steve hasn’t uncovered.  Unfortunately, his second is in rut, spending the next couple of days locked up with his omega, Riley. They make a wonderful pair, much like Clint, and his alpha, Natasha.  They support each other almost by instinct - each of them understanding the needs of their mate with nothing more than a glance between them. 

Its something Steve yearns for, to be honest.  He’s spent his ruts with both Peggy and February (the man staunchly refuses to tell Steve his given name, a bit of playacting that Steve can’t help but smile at), but neither is his mate, and that’s the connection that he’s longing for.  Or maybe...maybe he just wants someone to belong to.

It’s funny.  He has a castle full of servants, a handful of friends, and a harem full of men and women who would do anything to please him.  At the end of the day though, Steve is lonely. It’s an ache in his gut - not just to have someone who cares for him, but someone who knows him.  Someone who belongs to him. Someone he can belong to as well. 

At least he doesn’t have a rut to contend with.  His last one was just before Winter arrived. He hopes that when the time comes, he and Winter will be on good terms.  The idea of spending his rut with Winter makes him shiver all over. 

Maybe it’s Winter’s reticence, or maybe it’s something in his eyes.  Steve can’t put his finger on it, but he’s drawn to the omega like no one else.  The idea of knotting him, or, gods, helping him through his heat, lights a desire in Steve that only wants one thing: to burn. 


	4. Chapter 4 -

“There you are!” Prince Steven exclaims, welcoming Winter into his rooms.  “Come here - the cook has made a roast boar - well, you’ll have to taste it.  Ser Clint took it down in a hunt today. It was incredible to see. I’ve never seen a man take to a bow and arrow the way he does.”

Winter smiles without thinking about it and feels the mask against his skin, as is custom.  After his second visit, the prince had him keep it, and now he comes to the prince’s rooms ready, masked, and waiting for...for whatever is next.

This though - it’s rare to see the prince in such high spirits, and his open delight is infectious.  He can smell the prince’s good mood, like damp grass warming in the sun, earthy and full and  _ pleasing. _

“Alright then,” Winter says, and joins the prince at the table.  

The table is heavy with food, enough that Winter can’t help but wonder if others will join them, but it appears to be just the two of them.

He knows that the prince sometimes has more than one member of his harem up for meals.  He’s watched October and March go as a pair often enough, but sometimes it’s been February and April, or February and August.  Come to think of it, February gets an awful lot of the prince’s time. He’s said to be the prince’s favorite for rut.

It sounds a pang of jealousy through Winter, and it’s something he finds he doesn’t want to examine it too closely.

As they sit to eat, Winter watches the prince.  He’s polite, and his table manners are both impeccable and second nature.  He moves without thinking and seems so eager to share everything with Winter.  He’s not seen the prince this relaxed...ever. It’s enough to make him smile.

“Okay,” he says, giving up on fighting the smile on his lips.  “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

The smile the prince flashes him is blinding, full of white teeth and his eyes crinkling at the corners.  

“Can’t I be pleased to spend time with you?”

Shrugging, Winter gives a wordless hum in agreement.

The prince’s smile dims a bit, and Winter suddenly feels sorry to see it.  He doesn’t understand what he’s doing here, is the problem. When the prince calls on the others, it’s because he wants to lay with them.  But with Winter, he’s only ever polite and kind and steadfast - and he never, ever touches Winter. He never even hints at the desire.

It’s enough that Winter’s been climbing out of his skin.  When Pierce placed him in the prince’s service, Winter hoped that he would rarely be called on.  He couldn’t recall past sexual encounters, but he’d been educated with Pierce. It wasn’t unpleasant, and his body would at times crave the physical release, but it wasn’t anything he was looking forward to, either.

Now though...now he remembers that first night, taking the prince into his mouth, the way that he’d smelled, tasted.  The way his eyes watched over Winter. It was off at first - the prince hadn’t been aroused, hadn’t even seemed to want to be there, but then, gods, his arousal hit and the scent of it had Winter hard and aching in moments.  There was something about it - the scent of the prince and the way that he’d been watching Winter attend to him. Winter liked it. Liked the idea of putting on a show. 

So why hasn’t he been asked to do it again?

He doesn’t know, but he knows that he wants it.  

“Sire?”  Winter looks over at the prince who seems to be caught up in looking at his plate.  

The prince looks up, eyes hopeful.  

“Tell me about your day?” Winter asks.  

The prince’s smile falls a little, but then his face softens.  “Sure. And, ah, when we’re alone together? Please, call me Steve.  I know I have responsibilities, but when we’re alone, I’d like it if we can just be...us.”

“Of course,” Winter says.  “Si...Steve. Whatever you like.”

The prince - Steve - looks down at his plate, and for a moment, he looks so sad.  Then he breathes deep, and, well, Winter might be the one wearing a mask, but that doesn’t mean that Steve is showing his true face.

Steve prattles on about his day, hinting at a possible breakthrough he’s had in the fight against the Hydra.  

“But I don’t want to bore you,” the prince says, and Winter looks up from his plate.  

“It’s not.  Boring. I like hearing about it.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.  “Okay.”

He continues to make light chatter, and when the meal is done, he calls Winter to his study.  

It’s a large room with tapestries on the walls and a huge table that doubles as a map of the entire kingdom and the bordering lands.

Bending over it, Steve studies the markers he has laid out.  “See? If we can clear this old mining trail, we should be able to get a caravan through and bypass the Hydra’s territory altogether.”  

Winter watches as the prince surveys the map, looking pensive.

“We’ll have to make a treaty with King Gabriel, to the north,” he says, pointing to a dark blue section of the map.  “They’ve never been easy going, but, my father always said the king was a practical man. If I can make him see sense….”  The prince tapers off, lost in thought for a few moments, before looking at Winter with bright eyes.

“What do you think?” he asks.  “Should we try?”

Thinking over the problem, Winter looks over the map.  “What will we have to give up?”

Prince Steven grimaces.  “I’m not sure. It won’t be cheap, that’s for certain.  He’s a good man, my father said, but he feels he doesn’t get the respect he’s due because he’s so far north.  I was meant to marry his daughter once, when I - when - before.”

Before what? Winter wants to ask, but stays his tongue.  

He’s looking over the map, not really thinking of anything, when something catches his eye.  

“What about -?” But then he stops himself, flushing and forgetting his place.

“What?” Steve asks, looking at Winter with bright, curious eyes.  

“Nothing.  I shouldn’t have…”  He shakes his head.

“Please,” he says. “If you have anything that might help - in case you’ve missed it, we’re getting a little desperate here.”

Winter raises an eyebrow and the prince flushes, looking sheepish.  

“You know what I mean,” Steve says.

Winter’s smile must be enough, because the prince’s answering grin is genuine and kind.

“Just -”  Winter says, and then walks around the table to where Steve is standing.  “Here,” he says, pointing out a gorge on the map. “If you can get across this, you can bypass the Hydra’s lands and still reach the south without the detour through the mountains.

The prince blinks.  “Winter, that gorge is a thousand feet deep, at least.  Getting the men through it....it’s too dangerous.”

“Not through,” Winter says.  “Across. A bridge, Sire. Er, Steve.”

Steve looks at him as though he’s lost his mind.  

“Um,” he feels ridiculous, but the idea, now formed, won’t leave him be.  “What if...you could...a rope bridge,” he says, and an image comes to mind of the bend in a creek, a little bigger and deeper than could be safe for a couple of kids, so they made a bridge from rope and a downed tree.

He has no idea where it came from, but the image is so bright and clear in Winter’s mind that he almost misses the gasp that comes from the prince.  

“A suspension bridge, Gods above, why didn’t I think of that?”  He moves a few of the pieces around on the map, plotting the best spot for the bridge.  “And the resources we would have lost in the treaty can go to this instead. It’s so simple.  It’s brilliant!” The prince turns and grabs Winter, picking him up and spinning him around, looking up at him with eyes that are blue and bright as a late summer day. He smells amazing - all clean earth and sunshine, and Winter only just resists the urge to bury his nose in Steve’s neck.

“You’re -”  he holds Winter close, and Winter catches his breath, thinking  _ yes yes now, please! _

But Prince Steven’s eyes dull and his smile dims.  “I’m sorry,” he says, setting Winter down and stepping away.  “I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry.”

He turns and walks away, leaving an utterly baffled Winter in his wake.

What the hell was that?

.

Later in the bath, Winter will think about being in the prince’s arms - in  _ Steve’s _ arms, and how good it had felt.  How much like home. It’s confusing.

When he meets with Pierce again several days later, he doesn’t tell him about the conversation, about the prince asking Winter to call him Steve, or about the bridge.  It feels wrong, somehow, and that’s confusing too.

Winter owes Pierce everything; he knows that.  

But since that first night, Steve hasn’t asked anything more than company and conversation from Winter, and yet for some reason, Winter feels loyal towards the man.  He won’t violate the prince’s trust. It feels wrong.

That evening, when Sitwell brings the potion to Winter, he sets it on his night table.  

“You know it makes me sleepy,” he says, and Sitwell accepts the lie.

Later, he dumps the potion down the drain as his bath runs.  He knows he’ll have nightmares, worse than usual if his guess is right, but he thinks it might be worth it, if it means getting his own mind back.

.

Three weeks later, and it looks to be another night of the same, Winter thinks.  Since that night all those weeks ago, Steve hasn’t made a move to touch him, though he still calls on Winter regularly - moreso than any of the others.  He’s had time alone with the prince almost daily, excluding the three days of November’s heat, when she’d returned looking sleepy but sated, and smelling so strongly of the prince that Winter had to tamp down a snarl.

Looking across the table, he watches Steve as he draws something in his little book.  Winter’s never asked to see it, but the curiosity’s enough to drive him mad. The more time he spends with the prince, the more he wants - he wants - he wants...more.  He just wants  _ more _ .

Since that day in the map room, Prince Steven has returned to his old self: formal and polite, solicitous to a “T,” but distant and cool.  Winter doesn’t know how to build a bridge that can span the distance between them, even though he desperately wants to.

Curling up in one of the chairs opposite the prince, Winter pulls his robe tighter around himself as he settles in to read a while.  At least the prince has excellent taste in books.

They go on that way for about half an hour before Prince Steven speaks.

“Alright, what is it?”

Confused, Winter looks up.  “Highness?”

“Highness?” he says.  “I thought we were past that.”  There’s a sadness in Steve’s eyes and Winter doesn’t  understand. He thought that the prince –  _ Steve _ – wanted things this way.  Doesn’t he understand that he has all the power?

“I’m sorry,” Winter says, looking down.  “Steve.”

“You haven’t smiled in days,” Steve says.  “What’s wrong?”

Winter takes a deep, shuddering breath.  What is he supposed to say? There are times when he’s looked at Steve and caught him looking back – times when he wondered if maybe he did wants Winter the way that Winter wants him.

Without the potions that Pierce feeds him, Winter’s body has begun waking up, and he finds himself yearning to be touched, to be held, Gods, to be fucked.  He watches Steve, training in the yard, or pouring over his maps and books, and all Winter can think is how much he wants to feel Steve against him.

He doesn’t understand why that’s not happening, but the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense.  There’s no one here like him. No one with a bad memory and a metal arm, ropey scars and nightmares that bring him awake, screaming, in the middle of the night.

But none of this is what the prince wants to hear.

“It’s nothing, Sire.  All is well.”

The prince lets out a frustrated sigh.  “I wish I could understand you,” he says.  “Winter, it’s my duty to see that you’re safe, and healthy, and happy.  You are my responsibility. Won’t you talk to me?”

Well.  Isn’t that sexy?  Knowing that the prince sees him as nothing more than an obligation is a rejection on a level that has Winter reeling.  _ Responsibility. _

“Why am I even here?” he asks, his hurt and anger getting the better of him.  “You call me up here all the damn time, then ignore me. Or worse, you talk to me like I matter, but I don’t, and we both know it.  You call the others, and they come back to the common room just reeking of you, your scent all over them, but you, you never –“ Winter cuts himself off, breathing heavy through his nose.

That’s it, he thinks.  That’s the step too far.

“What?” the prince grinds out, his irritation clear in the way he holds himself, in the tension in his voice.

“It’s nothing,” Winter says, eyes on the floor.

“No, you were on quite a roll.  I never what?”

All of the fight dies out of Winter as the humiliation floods in.  What is he supposed to say? He knows – thinks he knows, anyway, why Steve doesn’t want him.  It hurts, deeper than he ever would have imagined, and he’s devastated like it’s a physical blow.

“Is it…is it because I’m ugly?” he asks, with a shrug of his left shoulder, knowing that it’s got to be off-putting, especially for someone as beautiful as Steve is.

“What?” Steve asks, his tone incredulous.

“I know I’m not – is it because of the arm?”

“Winter! You are not –“ Steve comes to stand right in front of Winter, reaching out, but not touching.   “Why would you think that?” he asks, his voice soft and sad.

“You don’t…you don’t want me, not like the others.  You never – you never touch me.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and this time when he reaches out, he does touch.  His hand lands on Winter’s shoulder and grips him there, fingertips digging into both flesh and metal.

“Winter,” Steve says.  “Please.”

Lifting his eyes to meet Steve’s, Winter is stunned by what he sees there – so much emotion, pain, and longing.  He doesn’t understand what it means.

“I never touch you,” Steve says, a look of apology on his face.  “Because I’m afraid that once I start, I’ll never stop.”

Gasping, Winter’s eyes widen.  Breathing deep, he catches Steve’s scent: fresh, damp earth, new grass, and sunshine.  And desire. He can smell Steve’s desire, and it’s intoxicating.

It gives him the courage to do what comes next:  Reaching forward, he takes Steve’s hand in his, and brings it to his own face.

“You would never have a need,” he says and presses his face into Steve’s hand.

With a sigh, Steve leans forward and brushes his lips across Winter’s.  They’re warm and soft, and it lights a fire that’s been smoldering for weeks now.

Winter pushes into the kiss, leaning up and chasing it when Steve pulls back.

“Please,” Winter whispers.  “Please.”

Groaning, Steve leans forward, and this kiss isn’t soft, and it isn’t tentative.  It’s hot and needy, his tongue in Winter’s mouth, his hands crushing Winter to him.  It’s everything Winter’s been longing for, and he never wants to stop.

Steve, however, pushes him away, looking down and breathing heavy.  He turns and walks toward the window, looking out at the kingdom below.

“Stop running away from me,” Winter says, and Steve reels as though he’s been slapped.  “You want me,” he says. “Gods, I can smell it on you.”

“I do,” Steve says.  “Gods help me, I want….”

“Then stop holding back,” Winter says.  “Please.”

“The things I want…what I would do….  I am not a good man,” the prince says, and Winter can’t help but hear the confession, even as he hears the lie.  He has a choice here - tell the truth, or tell the lie that he’s been fed. With the prince here, hurting in front of him, he finds it’s an easier choice than he would have expected.

“I think you might be the best man I’ve ever known.”

“You can’t say that.  You don’t know - No good man wants the things I want from you.”

“Then show me,” Winter says, and lays a hand on his shoulder again.

Turning, Prince Steven cups Winter’s face, before drawing his hand down to stroke his thumb across Winter’s bottom lip.  When he looks into Winter’s eyes, Winter sees only his anguish, the prince at war with himself.

  


“You don’t know what I would have you do.  What I would do to you.”

The words give Winter pause as his mind races to understand what the prince might mean.  His eyes widen with thought as he pulls together the pieces - the plain leather band that October wears around her neck; the way that February winces even as he brags about his time with the prince.  The mask that he asks Winter to wear. The mirror.

With a gasp, Winter understands - at least he hopes he does.

Sliding to his knees, he looks up at Prince Steven.  His eyes have grown dark and hungry, and it sends a thrill of want through Winter.  Has he ever wanted someone so much?

“I’m yours,” he says, looking into the prince’s big, blue eyes. “Do with me as you will.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me.”

“You can’t -”

“I do.”  Winter’s tone is as resolute as his will.  “If it’s what we both want, who’s to say it’s wrong?”

The prince grips Winter’s hand like a vice.

“You….” He must see something there, because a moment later, his demeanor changes.  “Very well, then.”

Winter’s whole body comes alive.

This is what he’s been wanting, needing.  This is what he’s been waiting for. “Tell me,” he says, his voice breathy.

Steve opens his pants, his cock firming, filling, and Winter’s mouth waters.  He catches Steve’s scent - dark, shady paths, damp ground, and safety. His blood surges and feels himself harden.

Prince Steven runs his hand across Winter’s jaw, thumb light across Winter’s bottom lip.  “Open.” 

Winter does, but doesn’t move to lick, to suck.  Not until he’s told.

“You’re so pretty like this,” the prince says, and Winter preens at the attention.

Noticing, the prince allows a crooked grin to slide across his face before he catches his bottom lip in his mouth.   “You like being pretty for me?” Prince Steven asks.

“I like being anything for you,” Winter says, and Steve’s eyes grow wide as they darken.

A strange sensation bubbles up inside of Winter, something powerful, like maybe...pride?  He wants to be this man’s undoing, just as much as he wants to be undone.

The prince fists Winter’s hair in his hand holds his head still.  “Suck,” he says, pressing the hot, velvety head of his cock against Winter’s lips.  

Winter opens and takes him in, takes him down.  The wide, blunt head presses against the back of his throat, and he swallows, trying to make space for it.  The prince groans, eyes wide and taking in everything in as he fucks into Winter’s mouth.

“You look so good on your knees, sweetheart.  And you love being there, don’t you?” 

Groaning, Winter swirls his tongue over the tip of Prince Steven’s cock as it pushes past his lips again.  

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, and begins to push into Winter’s mouth faster, picking up a rhythm.  “Fuck yes, take it.”

Relaxing, Winter lets himself be only in this moment.  He takes everything that Steve has to give him, keeps up with every press, every push.  The prince’s scent grows stronger the closer he gets to coming, and Winter breathes deep letting it suffuse him, until he’s wrapped up in nothing but the man before him: his scent, his body, his hand tight in Winter’s hair, holding him tight and letting him be nothing but this - a vessel for the prince’s need.  

He hears the prince’s words - mutterings and praise, some of it tinged with disbelief, and it stokes the sensation that this is something rare, something special.  He can surrender completely here, let Steve guide him, carry him. He can give up everything else, and just  _ be. _

The prince makes one last press against the back of Winter’s throat - not seeking entry, but pressing all the same - and comes, fingers pulling Winter’s hair hard enough to smart, and his eyes water.

Winter holds, breathing through his nose until the prince pulls away, then swallowing what he was given.  When he looks up at Prince Steven, it’s with wide, dazed eyes. He hasn’t felt this much at home inside of his own skin in...ever?  Has he ever felt so fully alive? So whole? His memory, shoddy as it is, thinks not.

Looking down at him, Prince Steve looks tentative, almost afraid.

“Please,” Winter says, desperate to wipe that look from the prince’s face.  He’s not sure what he’s asking for, only that he needs - gods - so many things.

The prince blinks and then falls to his knees, pulling Winter close.  Staring into Winter’s eyes, a look of disbelief passes over the prince’s face.  

“You can’t want this,” the prince says, his eyes searching Winter’s.  

“I want more,” Winter says, and presses his face into the prince’s neck, right over his scent glands, where he can get lost in the smell of the man.  As much as his body is eager for its own release, Winter wants _ this  _ more.

“Gods,” the prince says against Winter’s cheek, before pressing a kiss to Winter’s cheek.  

Eyes fluttering closed, Winter presses into the affection.

“Winter,” the prince says.  “Look at me.” He draws back and holds Winter’s face in his hands.  “If I do anything you don’t want - anything at all, you have to tell me.  You  _ have _ to.  I can’t - I can’t do this with you if I can’t trust that you’ll stop me from going too far.”

Pulling back, Winter looks at Steve.  His prince.

Those big, blue eyes are earnest and so full of worry and doubt.  Winter wants to promise that nothing bad will happen. He wants to promise that the prince is safe, that he would rather lose his arm all over again than allow harm to befall the prince.

But that’s not what he’s asking.  What he’s asking is so much harder.  

It’s one thing to lose yourself in order to give another what they seek.  Self-sacrifice is easy, almost routine to Winter. He’s used to doing what he has to do, and worrying about the after effects - the  _ price _ \- later.

But Steve is before him, asking him to be in charge - to call a halt before the price becomes too much. Winter’s not sure if he knows how to do that, but he knows that for Steve, he’s willing to try.

“Is that your will?” Winter asks, and breathes deeply again over Steve’s scent glands. He smells gorgeous: deeply shaded paths, damp earth, and junipers.  A part of him wants to bite down, to mark the prince as taken, as bonded, but he doesn’t know where that’s coming from. Omegas don’t bite their partners - that’s not how it works.

Steve’s hand snakes into his hair, and he holds Winter there, drawing him away from where he’s nestled his face into Steve’s neck.

“This is so important,” Steve says.  “If I ever hurt you - really hurt you - I couldn’t live with that.”

At the commanding tone, Winter draws a breath and finds himself tilting his head a bit; baring his neck.  “Okay,” he says.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I won’t let you hurt me.  Not...not anything I don’t want.”

“Okay,” Steve says.  “Can you tell me what you do want?”

“I…” Winter falters, torn between what he actually wants, and what he thinks he should say.

This moment, and anything that might come after, hinges on his response.  Does he dare…?

Breathing deep, he decides to do the one thing he was warned against, the one thing he was told not to do.

He tells the truth.

“You.  Please,” he says, and rises onto his knees to press against the prince.  “I’ve been waiting for so long, and you, you…” he sighs and presses his face against the prince’s neck, right where everything smells the strongest, the safest.

“Okay,” Steve says.  “Okay.” Winter isn’t looking, but he can hear the smile in the man’s voice.

Steve starts kissing down Winter’s neck, nosing against Winter’s scent glands.  “Gods, the way you smell,” Steve says, and Winter moans, his body fully waking to desire.  He can smell the way his scent sharpens, and he’d be embarrassed, but he’s too keyed up for that.    

Steve growls and gathers Winter into his arms.  He walks them to the chair in front of the mirror, his hands strong around Winter’s body, and Winter closes his eyes and sighs into it.  It feels so good to let go, to let someone else hold him, to let someone else be in charge, and not because it’s what’s owed, but because he  _ wants _ it.

He wants this.  He...he trusts Steve.  The realization hits him with a shock.  This isn’t just biology, isn’t just his body reacting to a strong and sure alpha.  This is more. This is this kind of man that Steve is - powerful, yet restrained, fair and sure and certain.  Winter can’t imagine that he’d be in better hands with anyone else. Pierce leads with a carrot and stick, goading and taking, threatening and cajoling.  But Steve - Steve leads with an open hand, and the difference - it’s everything.

Steve stands behind him, and bids Winter to look.  

The image in the mirror is striking.  Winter stands, the robe open at the front, revealing a muscular chest leading down to tight abs and his cock, hard and heavy between his legs.  As he watches, Prince Steven slides the robe off of his shoulders. He meets Winter’s eyes as he runs his hands over Winter’s body.

“My little mystery,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of Winter’s temple.  “Look at how good you look, how strong.” Steve runs a hand over Winter’s arms, watching them in the mirror as he does.  “So powerful, aren’t you? I bet you could crush me with this, hmmm?” He strokes along the metal arms, and Winter shivers.  “All that strength, and you’ll give it all to me if I ask, won’t you?”

“Yes, Sire,” Winter answers.  He’s transfixed, watching Steve watch them in the mirror.  It’s like seeing his body for the very first time.

“Someday soon, I’m going to sit down in this chair,” he whispers, his breath making Winter shiver.  “And you’re going to climb into my lap and fuck yourself on my cock, right here so I can see it. Would you like that?”

Winter pictures it, being stretched open, the prince inside of him, watching as he disappears inside of Winter, again and again.  It brings a low, needy whine to his throat, and Prince Steve chuckles. 

“I can’t wait, either, sweetheart.  But for now….” The prince leans down and picks Winter up, carrying him to the bed. Settling in on the bed, Steve pushes Winter back into the soft feathered mattress before leaning over him and kissing down his body.  His hand drifts down to where Winter is hard between his legs, pushing open the robe. He thumbs over the head of Winter’s cock, rough and Winter gasps, the sensation of too much and not enough, all at once.

“Please,” he begs.  “Please, I need -” He bites off a moan as Steve’s fingers drift lower, pressing against his hole, and Winter arches into the touch.

“Oh, you do need it, don’t you sweetheart?” Steve says, his fingers continuing to dance over Winter’s skin.  Winter’s body is already slicking, loosening to accommodate a knot, but Steve still fetches a phial of oil, slicking his fingers before pressing one inside of Winter.

Winter keens at the intrusion, his body arching, silently asking for more.

“So eager for me, aren’t you?” Steve says.  

“Yes.  Yes, please,” Winter gasps, his focus narrowing to the slim digit inside of him, and how it isn’t anywhere near enough.  

Humming, Steve presses soft kisses against Winter’s skin:  his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, before turning him. Understanding, Winter goes to his hands and knees, back arching,  _ presenting, _ and Steve gives a rumbling growl that makes Winter moan.  

“Fuck,” Steve says under his breath, and Winter can’t help the smile that quirks his lips.  “Oh you like that don’t you?” he asks, and Winter grins.

“I like that you want me,” he says, then sucks a breath as Steve pushes another finger inside of him.

“Sweetheart,” Steve says, getting on his knees behind Winter.  “You have no idea.” 

Winter’s waiting to feel Steve push into him.  Waiting to feel the breach, the pressure, and then - finally - to be filled.  Instead, what he gets is something soft and hot and gentle but insistent and -

“Oh, fuuuuuck,” Winter whines, and he feels Steve’s chuckle against his hole.

“Like that, sweetheart?” Steve asks, and when Winter groans in response, Steve chuckles again.  

It’s  - it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.  It’s so good - so gentle and hot - and it’s making Winter feel like he’s coming out of his skin.  It’s not enough to make him come - Winter doesn’t think it ever could be - but it’s enough that he’s fisting the bed linens, trying to find something to hold onto, even as Steve takes him apart.  

He must be swearing, saying something, because Steve brings a hand up to gentle down Winter’s back, calming him even as he riles him up further.  It isn’t long before Steve has his entire tongue inside of Winter, fucking him with it and it makes Winter cry out, again and again and again. Winter is sweating and shaking, his entire body ready for...for something.  For more than what he’s getting now.

“Steeeeve,” Winter moans, and he hears Steve’s soft chuckle behind him.

“Okay, sweetheart, Steve says, and he slides his fingers in where his tongue was just a moment ago.  “That’s not quite enough, is it?” he asks, confirming that he knows how strung out Winter is, that he’s teasing Winter on purpose.

“Tease,” Winter groans, and Steve twists his fingers in a way that makes Winter’s cock jump.  

“Mmm,” Steve replies, then leans over and licks a stipe up Winter’s spine.  “Is this what you need?” he asks, pressing his hard cock between Winter’s cheeks, rutting against him, but not pressing in.

Winter flicks his hips, and suddenly the head of Steve’s cock is pressing against his hole, and the two of them freeze.  Winter wants to hold this moment, wants to remember it, because yes, he’s so wound up and dying to be filled, but more than that - this is more than that.  This is him, making a choice, and Steve, making a choice, the two of them choosing each other.

Steve leans over and presses a kiss against Winter’s neck.  “You ready?” he asks, his voice a whisper and Winter knows then that Steve feels it, too.  Whatever this is that’s been smoldering between them? It’s about to catch fire. It’s about to burn.

“Please,” he grinds out, and arches his back further.

Steve gasps and begins to push in.  He goes slow but steady, an unrelenting push until he’s fully seated inside of Winter, and Winter?  He has never felt more whole. He’s full, so full that he thinks he might break apart from it, from just this, Steve inside of him, Steve filling him up.

As Steve begins to move, Winter moves with him, pushing back against Steve, trying to get him in deeper, fuller.  

“Is that so, sweetheart,” Steve asks, and gives Winter one long, hard, deep push.

It punches a sound out of Winter, so he does it again, hoping for...for something.

“I don’t think so,” Steve says, and the reaches up to gather Winter’s arms, pulling them behind him.  It forces Winter’s chest down, and he’s suddenly aware that if he wants more than what he’s getting, he’s going to have to wait for Steve to give it to him.

Yielding his control like this - it’s not something that comes naturally to Winter.  He might have consented to being Pierce’s weapon, but that was because he needed what Pierce gives him.  This is the first time in Winter’s limited memory that he’s given up control not because he has to, but because he wants to.  It makes every stroke that much more heady, more exciting. 

“Gods, Winter,” Steve groans, and begins to fuck him in earnest: hard, punishing strokes that hit just right and leave Winter howling.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Steve says, thrusting harder and faster.  “Gods, you take it so well, don’t you? Just fucking dying for it, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yes,” Winter gasps.  “Steve, yes, please, yes.”

“I know, baby,” Steve says after a particularly rough stroke.  “I know. You’ve been so good, too, haven’t you? So good and patient, waiting for me.  Make me want to be so good for you, sweetheart, make me wanna - oh, fuck, yes.”

Winter’s writhing against Steve’s hold, trying to let himself just take it, just be what Steve needs, but, Gods, he’s waited so long.  He feels a bead of something - oil, sweat, maybe his own slick, and it drips from his hole, down onto his balls, and he shudders all over.

“Please,” he says, his voice a whine and he doesn’t care.  He needs this - he needs, Gods, he needs to come, needs to be marked, needs Steve to bite him, to claim him, mark him as his, and his alone.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says.  “Oh, oh, fuck.” He releases Winter’s arms and Winter braces himself, pushing back and meeting Steve thrust for thrust.  Steve bends down over him, pushes his face right into Winter’s neck, right across his scent glands and licks, and then sucks.  

It makes Winter shiver, his whole body reacting to Steve’s mouth there - right there.  Steve growls in response. 

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Steve says.  “Mine. You’re fucking mine.”

“Yes,” he whimpers.  “Yours, Steve, please.”

“Ah, fuck.  Over. Turn over.”

Winter scrambles to obey orders, laying back against the pillows and bracing his feet flat against the bed.  “Steve,” he says, but what he means is “hurry,” and Steve does. 

In a moment he’s back inside of Winter, braced up on his forearms and nestling deep inside, filling Winter up in exactly the right way. Winter brings his hands up over his head and grips the headboard, locking them on and holding tight.

“Holy hell,” Steve says.  “Holy hell, you’re perfect.”  He rewards Winter’s submission with a long, filthy kiss, tongue fucking into Winter’s mouth, teeth biting at his lips.  It’s pure dominance, and finally, finally, Winter lets go. 

He leans up to press his nose against Steve’s neck, filling his nose with that earthy scent, and here, everything is safe.  He doesn’t have to be on, doesn’t have to be Winter, he can just be - be whatever it is that Steve needs him to be. 

Steve pounds into him, at one point sitting back on his heels and wrenching Winter’s hips up with him, pulling Winter onto his cock as much as he fucks up into him.

“Touch yourself,” Steve pants.  “Touch your cock and make yourself come.  I want to feel it, want to feel you coming on my cock.”

Winter hisses the moment his hand touches his cock.  It’s so heavy, and leaking against his belly. The pressure of his hand feels so good and it’s only a few moments before the entire world is shattering, breaking him apart a hundred ways, making him feel like nothing at all, before Steve roars above him, and falls down over him, biting hard into Winter’s shoulder and groaning out his release.

It’s then that Winter feels it, too full, stretched so tight it’s almost painful, but in the best possible way.

“Your knot,” he groans, because even as he says it, he can feel Steve pumping into him, the knot pulsing inside of him, filling him with Steve’s come.  He feels marked in the most gorgeous way, even as he feels confusion. Contrary to old wives tales, a male alpha will typically only knot when in rut, when it serves a biological purpose.  

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, breathing hard as his body releases again.  “I didn’t know - not supposed to - weeks.”

Winter brings his arms around Steve’s neck, and holds him there.  He holds Steve through his shudders, even as his hips ache. A part of him is loving this.  A part of him wants to know how it would be, to be in heat, to have Steve in rut, the two of them feeding off of one another’s desire until that’s all they know.  It fans a flame in him he never knew existed.

It takes forever before Steve starts to come down, his body shivering as the knot releases, and Winter holds him close through all of it.  He whispers sweet things in Steve’s ear, petting him and pressing soft kisses against his face and neck.

When Steve finally comes back to himself, his contrition is immediate and fierce.

“Winter, I’m so - I don’t know what happened,” he says.  “I’m not due -”

“Shut up,” Winter says.  “You’re ruining it.”

Steve looks down at him in disbelief, searching his eyes for any sign that Winter’s lying.

“You - Gods, you’re perfect,” he says, finding whatever he was looking for in Winter’s eyes.  He leans down and kisses Winter, long and deep, and Winter leans up into it, giving as good as he gets.

“That was….”

“Yeah,” Winter replies, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth.  Gods, when was the last time he smiled? An honest smile, with nothing to gain, nothing to hide?

Steve leans in for one more kiss, already shifting his hips away when he rubs his face against Winter’s scent glands, then pauses, and rubs against them more.

Winter smiles. He feels so safe, so content.  He didn’t know anything could ever feel this way.

Steve looks up at him, a puzzled look on his face.  It puts Winter on guard so quickly he’s not sure what’s happening.

As Steve pulls away, Winter can’t help the feel the loss, even as he feels the proof of their joining between his legs.  Just thinking about it spikes his desire again. Gods, who knew he’d be so insatiable?

Still, he watches Steve curiously.  He’s gentle, tender even, when he brings back a damp towel to clean between Winter’s legs.  It makes him feel safe again, but he can still scent the unrest on Steve.

“Is that - should I go?” Winter asks, sitting up from where he’d been laying on the bed.

“No,” Steve says, clearly distracted.  “Stay.” He walks around his rooms, fussing with this and that, and Winter watches him.  He still has that puzzled look on his face, and Winter can’t quite place it.

“Where did you say you’re from again?” Steve asks.  

Winter looks around the room and finds he’s searching himself, trying to find the answer.  “I don’t think I did,” he says, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to tell the truth, either.  Truth is, he’s not entirely sure where he’s from. Most of his memory begins with him in Pierce’s care.  It’s spotty, even after that.

“But you’re not from here,” Steve says.  “Not from Breukelen?”

“I don’t...I don’t think so.”

Steve huffs and paces around the suite a little more.  Finally, he stills and turns to look at Winter.

“Come here, please.”  

Winter does as he’s told, the tone of Steve’s voice compelling him, even as his brain warns of danger.

“It’s just,” he says, pulling Winter into his arms.  “The way you smell, it’s - you remind me of….”

He leans in and breathes deep, pressing his nose right into Winter’s scent glands.  Groaning, Winter bares his neck and melts into Steve’s arms. Gods, is it always like this?  He wants it to always be like this.

Suddenly, Steve stiffens, then pulls away to look at Winter.  Reaching behind him, he unties the mask and pulls it from Winter’s face, before staring, incredulous.

“Bucky?”

Winter reacts to the name, but he’s not sure why.  It strikes something in him, something terrifying, like a wall of secrets, ready to topple down onto him, burying him forever. All he can think is no no no no please not now.  He tries to fight through the fear, tries to rise above it, but he’s terrified and reeling.

Steeling himself, heart pounding, he looks into Steve’s eyes.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is extra long to make up for not posting tomorrow (I know, I'm terrible, please don't kill me!). Last two chapters post Friday and Saturday. Thank you all so much for the lovely comments, and so much love to cobaltmoony for the beautiful art. <3


	5. Chapter 5

“Bucky?”

Winter reacts to the name, but he’s not sure why.  It strikes something in him, something terrifying, like a wall of secrets, ready to topple down onto him, burying him forever. All he can think is no no no no please not now.  He tries to fight through the fear, tries to rise above it, but he’s terrified and reeling.

Steeling himself, heart pounding, he looks into Steve’s eyes.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve steps back, eyes wide.  “You,” he says.  “You are.  Gods, what have they done to you?”  

There’s anguish on Steve’s face, and something in Bucky keens at that, a wolf caught in a trap because all Steve ever is - all Steve ever does - is try to do right.

“Your name,” Steve says, pulling back and looking Bucky in the eye, “is James Buchanan, of the House Barnes.  Your father is a merchant, and your mother makes the best honey cakes I’ve ever tasted.  You’re - Gods, Buck, you’re my friend.  You were my best friend.”

Everything that Winter knows splinters around him.  The truth of who he is shatters the ideas of who he might be.  Pierce - he thought Winter was a weapon, and maybe Winter was.  Gods know he’s killed for Pierce.

But…but Bucky (and even thinking that name brings up an ache inside of him, like his missing limb, calling him home, only this time it’s a piece of his soul), Bucky is not anybody’s weapon.  Bucky is a whole person, with hopes and wants and ideas of his own.  

Each time he thinks the name (Bucky) it feels like another lost piece of himself slots into place.

“Steve?”  He looks up and Steve is - oh, he is so concerned.  His face is a mess of worry, and Bucky sees him, sees the child he was, laid over the man he’s become.  “I thought you were smaller,” he says, and Steve coughs up an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah?   Well I thought you were dead.”  

The statement brings all that’s been revealed to the fore, and Steve grabs Bucky, holds him tight.  He’s breathing deep, pressing kisses against the side of Bucky’s face, and Bucky leans into it, leans into this man who’s done nothing but be gentle, and kind, and _good_ to Bucky.

They spend hours that night talking.

Steve tells him everything he can remember about their time together.  He talks about their little nook in the woods, how they’d fished from it, how Bucky’d taught Steve the proper way to hold a sword, and how Steve would sneak hampers full of sandwiches from the kitchens for the two of them to share.   

As they talk, Bucky recalls tidbits of their time together.  

“Did you…” he asks, peering into the middle distance.  “Do you draw?”

A sheepish smile takes over Steve’s face.  “Sometimes,” he answers.  “I used to draw you, a lot.”

Bucky shakes his head.  “I wish I could remember it all.”

“You will,” Steve says, and Bucky almost believes him, from the conviction in his voice.

“What happened?” Steve asks, and so Bucky tells him.  He talks of being wounded while fighting the Hydra, and thinking he was going to die, there on the King’s road.  He remembers wishing he could see his mother one last time.  His regret over not finding Steve to say goodbye.

“And then,” he says, “Pierce found me.”

Steve draws back, giving Bucky a critical look.  “Wizard Pierce??

Shrugging, Bucky nods.   “He took me in, gave me - Gods, some of the foulest potions known to man, I’m sure.  He fixed my arm, he -”

Bucky stops himself and looks away.

“Buck,” Steve says, reaching his hand out to his friend, his lover.   “You can say anything to me.  You have no idea, how much I’ve missed you.  I trust you.”

“That’s just it, Steve.  I don’t know if you should.”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand.  “Anything, Buck.  You can tell me anything.”

“I think...I think -”  He cuts himself off, shaking his head.  “There’s something, but my memory...everything seems so confused.  It’s been getting better, but….”

“Better how?”

Looking up at Steve, Bucky shrugs.  “I can’t say.  Just...the last couple of weeks seem a lot clearer to me.  I think...I think maybe that’s why I finally said something to you tonight.  I could finally remember everything long enough to get frustrated.”

Smiling, Steve leans up to kiss Bucky. “Anything else?” he asks.

“Bad dreams,” Bucky says, after a moment’s thought.  “And….” He cuts himself off, blushing.

“And?” Steve asks, a small grin tugging the corners of his mouth.

“And I’ve been wanting this,” Bucky says, eyeing their hands joined together.  “I’ve been wanting you.”

“You have me,” Steve says.  “As much as you want.  Do you think...maybe you’re coming into heat?”  As soon as he asks the question, he freezes, looking at Bucky in horror.

“You….oh.  Oh, Buck.”  He pulls Bucky to him with a sob, holding him tight.  Bucky can feel Steve’s grief in the way that he holds Bucky.  Worse, he can smell the anguish coming off of his alpha and it makes him whine a little, low in the back of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says.  “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you…?  Steve, what’s going on?”

“Buck,” Steve says, loosening his hold, but still keeping Bucky close.  “What else do you remember about Pierce, about when he found you?  Tell me everything you can.”

So Bucky does, still bewildered.  He tells Steve about the horrific nightmares, a dim memory of pain, burning him up from the inside.   The potions Pierce gives him, how dependent on them he’s been.   

“Why are you so upset?” Bucky asks.

“Buck,” Steve says, cupping Bucky’s face in his hands.  “I don’t...I don’t know how to tell you this.  Your mother told me that you had your first rut just before you left to join the war.  Buck, you presented as an alpha.”

Bucky reels from the information.  

“How…?” Bucky asks.  

“I don’t know.  Maybe Pierce? I...oh, Gods.  I think this is my fault.”

“What?”  bucky stares at him, incredulous.  “Steve, how could this be your fault?”

“Before, when you said you remembered me as being shorter?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and hold’s Steve’s hand tighter.  “Looks like you finally got your growth spurt.”

Shaking his head, Steve tells Bucky the whole story - about his mother’s illness, that terrible winter when he lost everything, and finally, the secret that was known only to Steve, his mother, and Wizard Pierce.  

“Just after she took ill, I finally presented.  Buck, I presented as an omega. It was - my mother, she couldn’t care less.  She made sure that I knew how much she loved me, no matter my designation.  But she cautioned me that the kingdom might not take to an omega prince.  They’d worry that whoever I selected as my mate would dominate me, and with me being so sickly anyway…”

Wincing, Bucky draws the obvious conclusion.  “They thought your mate would eventually take over.”

Steve nods.  “It was right about then that Wizard Pierce returned from his travels.  He said that he’d found a potion that could cure even the direst of illnesses.  I immediately commanded him to give it to my mother, and he did.”

“But…?”

“But, she conspired with him.  She had him slip it into my morning tea.  It was foul, and I didn’t want to drink it, but she revealed to me that if I didn’t drink it at that moment, the heat from the tea would ruin the potion, and it would go to waste.  It was - Gods, I was so angry at her.  She threw away her life.  For me.”  

“And you’ve felt guilty ever since, haven’t you?”

Steve shrugs, a grimace on his face.   

Bucky looks at him, his brave, strong prince, his boyhood friend.  He can see all of the things that Prince Steven was back when he was just Stevie:  the innate goodness, the shrewd intelligence, his basic kindness.  All of the things that drew him to Steve when they were kids are there now that he’s a man.  It makes Bucky grateful, so grateful, to have Steve in his life again.

They spend the next few hours talking.  It’s very late, and the castle is quiet when there is a soft knock at Steve’s door.  He pushes Bucky behind him and then grimaces.  

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “It’s just -”

“Instinct, I know.”

When Steve answers the door, he’s surprised to see Sitwell, accompanied by one of his guards.  

“I came to fetch Winter,” he says, trying to peer around Steve.  “He’s due for his medicines, and I know you prefer to sleep alone.”

Steve eyes the man, full of barely concealed anger.  Whatever has happened - whatever has been done to Bucky, he knows that Sitwell had a hand in it.

“You can send his potions up.  He’s sleeping here tonight.”

A complicated emotion passes over Sitwell’s face.  If Steve and Bucky have figured correctly, the man is probably torn between being elated that Winter has made such progress, and upset that he won’t be able to grill him about it.  Either way, Steve’s not moving.  Bucky is never leaving his side again, not if he can help it.

Sitwell returns with the potions in short order, and Steve and Bucky look at them.

“I don’t think you should take this,” Steve says.  

“I’m not going to.  I haven’t in weeks.”

“...didn’t you say your memory has been getting better over the last few weeks?”

“I - yeah,” Bucky says.  “I’ve been suspicious.”

A low growl rumbles in Steve’s chest.  When he looks up, Bucky’s wearing a sly little grin.  

“Is that so, my big, strong alpha?”

“Get over here,” Steve says, and Bucky all but jumps into his arms.

They kiss, long and deep and languid, until the kiss turns heated.  “Gods, I want you,” Steve says, and licks over Bucky’s scent glands.  

Bucky arches his neck, exposing his glands for Steve to scent.

“The way you smell.  I want to bathe in it,” Steve says.  He runs his hand up the other side of Bucky’s neck, before burying it in Bucky’s long, pretty hair.

He’s about to dive in for another kiss, before he startles, and pulls back.  “When was your last heat?”

Flushing, Bucky looks away.  “I don’t...I don’t recall.  Pierce said something about a suppressant.”

Steve noses at Bucky’s neck again.  “Fuck, you’re almost there.”  He sucks a mark just under the gland before pressing a kiss over it again.

“I’ve been so hot today, is that part of it?”

“Yes,” Steve growls, and feels himself growing hard. “You need to decide,” Steve says, “Now, before you’re heat drunk.  Do you want me to help you through?  You’ll be safe if you don’t, don’t worry.  I won’t send you away.  I’ll make sure that you’re safe.”

“Yes,” Bucky whimpers.  “Gods, yes, I’ve fantasized about it, about you taking me, knotting me.”

Steve emits a low growl again, and pulls Bucky tight to him.  “You need to know,” he says, nosing along Bucky’s neck, “that I’m going into rut.  The smell of you, Buck, it’s too much.  It’s like I’m drowning in it.  I love it.”

“I dreamed about this,” Bucky said.  “I dreamed about going into rut, about biting you.  Claiming you.”

Steve holds him close.  He can’t seem to keep his hands - his nose and his lips - off of Bucky, and Bucky loves it.  “I’m so sorry that was taken from you,” he says.  “I’m sorry that you went through that.”

Bucky pulls away, looks Steve in the eyes.  They’re that same dark blue, with flashes of green near the iris.  The eyes he used to see in his dreams.  He feels like some part of him has known all along.

“Steve, listen to me.  I’m not - I’m not sorry at all.  I know - I know that this is just the beginning, and I know that there are some hard things ahead.  But I also know that me and you?  This?  We were always going to end up here.  I don’t remember much, but I remember wanting to kiss you.  I remember being so proud of you, how brave and quick and smart you were.  If you had to become an alpha, then maybe I had to become an omega.  Whatever it takes.  I want to be with you, whatever it takes.”

Steve surges up then, and kisses Bucky so strong, and so fierce, it takes his breath away.  “Buck,” he gasps.

“I know,” Bucky answers, because he does.

They make love, and Steve is gentle, and sweet, and while Bucky appreciates it, he doesn’t need it.  

“Steve,” he whines.  What he wants is something harder, faster.  More.

“I know,” Steve pants.  “Just...let me have this.  In a few hours I’m going to be fucking you so hard you won’t remember your own name.  Let me have you easy right now.”

After his brain comes back online at the idea of Steve fucking him hard and fast and knotting him, Bucky decides it might be prudent not to argue.

When they’re done, Steve settles Bucky into the bath before calling his guards at the door.  “Fetch Ser Samuel, and Ser Clint as well.”

“Shall I call for Lady Natasha?”

Steve thinks about it, and his hackles rise at the idea of the pretty little alpha near his Bucky.  “No.  Not this time.”

A few minutes later, a sleepy Sam and Clint are at Steve’s door.

Sam takes one whiff of the rut and heat heavy air and raises a brow.  

“I can’t give you all the details right now.  I’m being pulled into rut early, and Buck - Winter - is about to go into heat.  We need supplies, and I need - I need - I don’t think we’re safe.” he says, deciding to level with these two men, men who he trusts with his life.

“Highness?” Sam says, going on high alert.

“You’re the only ones I trust.  Fury, Nat, you know I trust them, but...I don’t know how intense this will be.  I’ve never been with someone while our cycles synced.”  

Clint nods.  “Understood, Highness.  We can have the other guards bring supplies.  Shall we send for Wizard Pierce?”

“No!” Steve replies, too quickly for it to pass.  Taking a deep breath, he says no again.  “I’m asking you two because I trust you.”  That he doesn’t trust Pierce is implied, and both of the men draw a deep breath, the implications of all that’s been unsaid settling in.  

“Of course, Highness,” Sam says, hand on his sword.  “Clint, would you send up Riley?  He can help see to the other supplies.  I’d like you to go to the kitchens yourself.  Stay sharp.”

Steve breathes deep, relaxing some now that he has Clint and Sam on his side.  It’s inconvenient, his rut hitting like this, but part of him - oh, part of him is so eager to get back to Bucky.  To show him just how strong, how virile, his alpha is.  

While he waits on Sam and Clint, Steve fusses with the bedding, fluffing pillows and dragging out extra blankets, anything that might make Bucky more comfortable.  When he’s done, he realizes that he’s literally been nesting, and cocks a half grin at himself.  The next few days are going to be intense.

He sees to Bucky, washing his back, bringing the soft sponge around to soap his front as well.  He pays attention to all of Bucky’s little tells: the way he leans into Steve’s touch, how he cants his head, exposing his neck over and over.  The way he hisses a breath when Steve soaps over his nipples.  

With a feral grin, he does it again and watches as Bucky grows hard.  They are going to have such fun.

Clint and Sam return: there’s a pile of clean linens and clothes, balms to soothe sore muscles, and a hamper full of food and wine.  Steve puffs up with pride that he can provide these things for Bucky in his heat, and that knocks him off balance all over again.  

Being with someone in heat isn’t new to him, but this? This pride - this need to secure and provide and please - that is something he hasn’t quite experienced in such a profound way. He marvels over it even as he laughs at himself.

Helping Bucky from the bath, he wraps him in warm, soft towels before taking his time to dry him off.  He massages and kisses every inch of skin as he works, and the way Bucky smiles up at him leaves him feeling breathless.  

“You don’t have to fuss like this,” Bucky says, but Steve will be damned if Bucky feels anything other than perfect.  Because that’s what he is.  He’s perfect.

Steve might have lost him once, but he’s found him again, and he is never letting go.

After a light meal, Steve insists that they nap while they can.  He has a feeling this rut is going to be particularly intense, and he wants them to shore up as much energy as they can.

When they wake, Steve knows before he opens his eyes that it’s hit.  He can smell Bucky, ripe and intense, like late summer peaches. It makes him want to sink his teeth in.  He realizes he’s growling, low in his chest, and that Bucky is pushing his hips back against Steve’s hard length, whimpering and trembling.

“Sshh,” Steve says, and lets his hand push Bucky’s hips forward.  When his fingers reach Bucky’s hole, he finds him already loose and wet, so ready for his alpha.  

It pleases Steve in the most primal way.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Steve says, as he reaches around to stroke Bucky’s hard cock.  “I have you, baby.”  He pulls Bucky’s hips back, and in a couple of moments, he’s inside of Bucky, back inside where he’s been longing to be.  Back inside, where he’s home.

He thrusts a couple of times before he’s pulling out and Bucky’s whimpering again.  

“Steve,” he groans.  “Please.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Steve says, tugging Bucky up and guiding him across the room.

He sits in the big chair opposite the mirror and pulls Bucky onto his lap.  

“Remember?” he asks.  “Remember what I said I was going to do?”

Bucky nods, already grinding against Steve.  

Steve watches in the mirror so he sees the moment that Bucky looks up, catches the sight of them together. 

“Oh,” he sighs.  “Gods, look at us.”

They’re quite a sight.  Steve is stretched out, long legs planted on the floor, and arms tight around Bucky’s waist, holding him close.  Bucky is disheveled, his long hair falling down around his shoulders, back arched and cock hard, curving up to his belly. 

Steve leans forward and, eyes on Bucky’s, places a soft kiss behind his ear. 

“Come on, baby,” he says, giving Bucky’s hips a little squeeze.  “Show me how pretty you are sitting on my cock.”

He holds Bucky steady as he lifts his hips and positions himself, then slides, oh, so slowly, down Steve’s cock.  Watching it looks just as good as he thought it would. Bucky’s eyes start to roll back in his head and he stays that way until he’s fully seated.  

Steve brings his hand around to stroke Bucky’s aching cock, thumbing over the head and Bucky moans, deep and needy.  He watches as Bucky gets himself under control, rising up, then rocking back down onto Steve, fucking himself on Steve’s cock.  He’s not lifting up much, just grinding really, but his eyes are fastened onto where they’re joined together, watching as Steve’s cock disappears inside of him, again and again. 

With a wicked grin, Steve lifts his hands and brings them to Bucky’s nipples, flicking his thumb over them before latching on tight to pinch. He’s rewarded with a gasp and Bucky’s eyes fly to his in the mirror.  

“Oh, someone likes that, don’t they?”

Bucky nods, little gasps and whimpers leaving his mouth as Steve begins to thrust up.  

“Seven hells,” Steve gasps.  “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

Bucky meets his eyes with a sly, feral grin.  “But what a way to go.”

“Oh, that is it,” Steve says, and wraps his arms tight around Bucky so that he fuck up into him. 

Bucky cries out, and Steve thrusts into the tight, wet heat of his body.  It’s so much more intense than it was just hours ago. Bucky smells incredible, all sharp, burnt sugar and smokey peat.  He lets his tongue work over the scent glands on Bucky’s neck, lets his teeth worry the thin skin there. 

“Yes!” Bucky gasps, his body cycling up for orgasm already.  “Steve, yes, please,” and Steve growls again, thrusts harder.  Gods, to bite him. 

To bond him.

Claim him.

Bucky’s orgasm hits and Steve is blindsided, his own following close behind, his knot filling and stretching, locking the two of them together.  Steve loses sight of everything for long moments as his knot pulses inside of Bucky, wave after wave of pleasure rocking his body. It goes on forever, and he’s still disappointed when the knot starts to recede.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, feeling Bucky warm and loose in his arms.

“So good,” he says, and Steve can hear the contentment in his voice.  

“You know that’s just the beginning,” he says.  

“Promise?” Bucky asks, and Steve chuckles.  Soon, Bucky’s heat will hit him hard and he’ll be begging for Steve’s knot, begging to be filled.  Steve wants to pamper him now while he can.

After he’s cleaned Bucky up and given him some water and a little fruit, he lays back in the bed and Bucky crawls into his arms. 

“Steve?”

“Mmm?” Steve asks, kissing the top of Bucky’s head.

“It would be okay,” he says.  “If you bit me? It doesn’t have to mean anything, not if you don’t want.  But I would be okay with it.

Steve draws a breath, shocked and dismayed.

“Buck,” he says, and draws away so that he can look Bucky in the eyes.  “I’m not going to bite you - I’m not going to bond you this weekend. Before we bond, we’re going to have a nice, long handfasting, where everyone in the kingdom can see that you belong to me, and that I...I belong to you.  I would never mate you without a ceremony,” he says, appalled. “But if you’ll have me? I absolutely intend to mate you.”

Bucky’s eyes grow wide as Steve speaks, and Steve can smell the desire, the submission on his skin.  Steve can smell the surprise.

“We have a lot to get through.  But we’re going to do it together. And when it’s done, all of the alphas in all of the kingdoms will know that the best, most beautiful omega in all the lands?  He chose me for his alpha.  That’s what I hope for.”

Bucky’s answering grin is so tender-bright that it makes Steve ache, there behind his ribs.  

It isn’t long before their heat and rut kick in in earnest.  They spend the next several days wrapped around each other, fucking until they’re both sore and exhausted, then cleaning up, sleeping it off, only to start all over again.  

The third morning of their time together, Steve finally feels the fever break.  When he sniffs at Bucky’s skin, he scents only contentment and exhaustion.  The hunger that drove them for days on end is gone.

It was good.  It was...it was beautiful.  

But now they have the world to deal with.  Pierce will want Bucky to report out, and just the idea of Pierce going near his omega makes Steve’s blood rage.

“It’s too early,” Bucky says, then rolls over to look into Steve’s eyes.  “You can spoil for a fight later.  I want the next few hours.  We need more sleep if we’re going to pick a fight, and if I know you, we’re gonna.”

“Oh, you think you have me pegged, don’t you?” Steve asks, marveling again at the man in his arms.  He’s had people see to him over the years, but no one has ever known him so well.  Just days together, and Bucky seems to know his every move already.  There's nothing he wouldn't do for this man.

“I love you,” Steve says, his voice soft and low.  

Bucky’s eyes light up, going from gray-blue to the color of a brilliant summer sky, and he smiles, a thing filled with beauty and wonder.

“I love you too,” he says.  “Punk.”

They spend the rest of morning dozing, snuggling, and whispering their hopes for the future.  By the time the sun is high, though, they can no longer pretend that the insular bubble they’ve been wrapped in will hold much longer. 

As if hearing their thoughts, the noise of a scuffle reaches them.  When Steve opens the door, he finds Sam, Nat and Clint with their backs to the door.  Clint has his foot on Pierce’s neck. 

“Well,” Steve says.  “Good morning, everyone.”

.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter (and it's a doozy) will be up tomorrow! Thank you all for the wonderful support. <3


	6. Chapter 6

They spend the rest of morning dozing, snuggling, and whispering their hopes for the future.  By the time the sun is high, though, they can no longer pretend that the insular bubble they’ve been wrapped in will hold much longer. 

As if hearing their thoughts, the noise of a scuffle reaches them.  When Steve opens the door, he finds Sam, Nat and Clint with their backs to the door.  Clint has his foot on Pierce’s neck. 

“Well,” Steve says.  “Good morning, everyone.”

“He was trying to force his way in,” Clint says.  

“This is preposterous,” Pierce says.  “Unhand me!”

Steve has only a moment to evaluate his options.  If he arrests Pierce, his hand is played. He’ll have no way of discovering who, if anyone, is on his side.  If he lets him go, he might well be able to carry out the rest of his plot, whatever it may be.

He’s trying to clear his head to decide when he catches Bucky’s scent: it’s filled with fear, and anger. 

“Arrest him,” Steve says, decision made.  Pierce isn’t going to harm one hair on Bucky’s head.  Not anymore. 

“Steve?” Nat says, taken by surprise. 

“For treason against the crown.  Give me thirty minutes and we’ll meet in the small council room.  I’ll explain everything.”

.

By the time they meet, Bucky’s remembering more and more.  Most importantly, he remembers PIerce’s end-game: Murder of the prince, and the installation of Pierce as the temporary ruler.  By the time he was done, he planned to have all of Breukelen under his control. 

After they break, Steve, Sam, Clint, Nat and Fury work to round up all who know of Pierce’s plot.  They take Sitwell, Ser Rumlow, Ser Rollins and a handful of others who were secretly serving Pierce.  Steve is both disappointed in the short-sightedness of these men, and also that they go down so easily.  A part of him is aching for a hard fight. 

Though he is loathe to do so, he makes a public statement.  The last thing he needs is the rumor mill running at full-tilt while he tries to figure out his next move. The people, while concerned, seem to take it well.  It sparks a flare of pride in Steve, that his people have this kind of trust, this kind of faith in him. 

He also finds, to his dismay, that he has trouble leaving Bucky alone.  What if there’s another traitor, seeking revenge? What if one of Pierce’s goons decides to try to reclaim him.  In the end, Bucky makes it easy. His scent, though still carrying concern, brings so much peace to Steve that he can’t bear to leave Bucky alone, not even to go back to the harem. 

“You don’t mind?” Steve asks.  “I can’t imagine this is interesting for you.”

“I don’t mind,” Bucky says.  “Besides, I feel like I’m remembering more and more.  What if I remember something important? Pierce thought I was under his control.  What if he said something in front of me that helps?”

It took very little convincing for Steve to feel okay about it. 

It took even less for the others to be on board. 

“You smell like a newly bonded alpha,” Sam says, as he walks with Steve down to the dungeons.  They’re hoping to eke more information out of Pierce, though who knows how successful they’ll be.

“Not bonded,” Steve says.  

“Yet,” Sam answers.

Steve flushes, and tells Sam the story of is his first friendship, and how distraught he’d been to lose Bucky.

“And you’re sure you can trust him?” Sam asks.  

Steve rumbles a growl.

“Hey, come on, now.  You know I have to ask.”

“I know,” Steve answers.  “But the answer is yes.”

“Then I’m happy for you,” Sam says, and Steve can’t fight the grin that steals across his face.  He doesn’t want to.”

“It’s a good look on you,” Sam teases.

“Alright, fuck off,” Steve says, and Sam laughs.  “Really though, it is. I’m glad to see you happy.”

“Thank you,” Steve says.  “It’s good to be happy.”

.

Later that night, Steve and Bucky lay in bed.  Bucky is never so content as when he’s in Steve’s arms. Tonight though, he has trouble relaxing.  There’s so much on his mind: Pierce’s treason, the entire plot. The way his memory comes to him in splintered fragments or giant chunks, like movies that play out in his mind.  

He can’t remember his family, and he desperately wants to.  

“I wish you would talk to me,” Steve says, sensing Bucky’s discontent.  

Bucky looks away.  Steve pulls him close, kisses the top of his head. 

With a sigh, Bucky kisses his shoulder, then turns his head, resting on Steve’s chest, but saying nothing. 

“If not me, then...maybe Peg, uhm, October?  She’s been a good friend to me. She could be one to you, too.”

A derisive laugh escapes Bucky before he can call it back.

“Hey,” Steve says.  “I know she’s not your favorite person, but she is someone you can trust.”

Bucky curls into himself a little at that.  He doesn’t want to bring harm to March and October, but...he also can’t let Steve be hurt, not by anyone.

“Are you...have you told her?  About Pierce, the whole plot?”

“Not yet.”

Leaning up on his elbow, Bucky looks into Steve’s eyes, that fathomless blue.  “Don’t,” he says. “Steve, I mean it. Please don’t.”

Steve looks down at him, concerned.  “Buck, what is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

Bucky looks away, but Steve catches his chin, his eyes imploring.

Biting his lip, Bucky thinks it over.  If he tells Steve the truth, who knows what will happen with Peggy and Angie.  But if he doesn’t...if she betrays Steve further….

“You can’t trust her,” is what he finally settles on saying.

“Because…?”

Bucky realizes then that he’s either going to have to tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may, or become no better than Peggy - lying and keeping secrets from Steve.  He won’t do that, not anymore.

“She’s  - She and Angie?  Uhm, March? They’re - I think they’re in love.”

Looking down, Bucky waits for Steve’s reaction.  He’s expecting anger maybe? Disappointment?

Instead, Steve starts chuckling, and when Bucky looks up, he’s launched into full blown laughter, his chest shaking and eyes bright. 

“Ooookay?”

“Buck,” Steve says, when his laughter dies down.  “I know.” His voice is as warm as his smile. “She and Angie came to me when they realized how they felt about one another.  I offered to release them both from service, but Peg wanted to stay on. The small council would never allow her to serve in my army, and I value her insight.  Trust me,” Steve says, smiling, “there is nothing going on there that shouldn’t be.” 

Mind reeling, Bucky thinks back to when he’d first arrived, and all of the times that Peggy and Angie had been called to Steve’s rooms, and the tales they told when they returned. They way they smelled of him.

“So, did you...with them?”  

Steve looks at him, curious for a moment, before he realizes what’s being asked.  

“No!  Oh, god.  No, Buck. I used to have them here so that they could have some privacy.  Sometimes we’d have dinner together, but nothing more.”

Bucky blinks, thinks about what Steve’s said.  “But they the way they always talked…how they smelled….”

“Buck, I promise you.  Peg and I had something, but that was a long time ago.  I love them both, but...not the way I...” Steve leans in, presses his lips to Bucky’s forehead.  “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life, Buck. I...I love you.”

Steve looks down, looks shy, and Bucky’s filled with warmth, like sunshine inside of him, bursting to get out.  His smile is brilliant as he leans up to get at Steve’s mouth. 

“Yeah?” he asks, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip.  “You love me?”

“I do,” Steve says, smiling bright and beautiful.  Gods, he’s so beautiful.

Grinning, Bucky looks into Steve’s eyes.  It’s there - it’s all there. All the love and longing that he’s held for Bucky, the years they were apart, finding their way back to one another.  They might have said the words to each other before, but this time, and maybe each time, it feels different. Each time Bucky hears them, it gives him strength.  Like it’s the antidote to all that’s come before. 

When he thinks about it, and he tries not to, he’s stunned at how close they came to losing each other forever.  Now, there nothing that will stand in their way. Not Pierce and his treachery, not Sitwell and his laughably transparent need for acceptance.  

Nothing.

“Really?”  Steve asks, after their kisses have slowed.  “You’re just going to leave me hanging?”

With a sly smile, Bucky leans up onto his elbows.  

“Now when have I ever done that?” he asks, reaching his hand down to Steve’s groin.  He cups Steve’s balls and dick, giving them a leisurely grope. His grin broadens when he feels Steve’s body taking an interest in the proceedings.  He breathes deep, scenting Steve’s arousal. 

“You’re terrible,” Steve says, catching Bucky’s hand with his.  With a single, swift movement, he has Bucky on his back, looking up into Steve’s smiling face. 

“I love you,” Bucky says, unable to suppress the smile on his lips, or the tender affection in his voice.  “I think I’ve always loved you.”

Steve’s answering grin is brilliant, beautiful, and Bucky thinks he could climb inside of it and live there, maybe forever.  Maybe long enough that he can forget that he ever had to spend a day without Steve and his blinding, sunshine smile. 

As Steve dips down for a kiss, Bucky realizes that this?  This is worth fighting for. This is probably even worth dying for.  There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Steve, and he knows - knows, deep inside of his heart, his soul - that Steve feels the same. 

It’s with that thought in his heart that he leans up to take a kiss from Steve.  He lets it sink into him: his thoughts, his flesh, his very bones. He lets the idea of Steve and Steve’s love consume him, a fire that he will gladly walk through, because he knows he’ll come out clean, come out stronger, on the other side. 

It’s with that thought that he gives himself up to Steve - Steve’s clever fingers and clever tongue, the way he teases satisfaction and surrender from Bucky’s every cell.  

“Anything,” he gasps.  “Gods, I’ll give you anything.”

“Everything,” Steve responds.  “Give it all to me.”

And Bucky does, because in the giving, he is released.  In surrender, he’s found strength. In Steve, he’s found himself. 

In the morning when they wake, it’s to the sound of Phillips, the Royal Head of House, pounding on the door.

“Highness,” he yells through the thick, oaken door.  “It’s Howard Stark. He has returned!”

.

Steve and Bucky are quick to dress.  They head for the small council room, and find Sam, Nat, Riley, Clint, Fury, and his assistant Maria, all there, waiting.  Howard and Tony Stark sit at the head of the table, a shield that looks much like the one Steve wields before him. 

“What news?” Steve asks, as soon as he walks into the room. 

“I heard about Pierce,” Howard says.  “I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, Steve still looks at Howard with questions in his eyes. 

“I’ve returned.  In my voyages, I came across a small, secluded kingdom.  They were remarkable. Advanced beyond my ken and kind, but with a desire to remain as they are - hidden from the world. 

“And?” Steve asks, gesturing to the shield.

“I - HIghness, I told them of you.  Your...story. The whole story,” he says, giving Steve a meaningful look.  

Howard was one of the few people who knew Steve’s whole story, about the elixir and about his designation, and how everything changed.  

“You can speak freely, Howard,” Steve says, nodding at the room around him.  “We’re among friends.”

Howard Stark looks around and nods.  “And I told them of the Hydra. About how it plagues our lands.  They offered me a gift, so long as I promised to never return, and never tell anyone how to find them.  I’m not even allowed to say the name of their lands.” Howard nods at the shield. “It’s a miracle. It absorbs impact, is stronger than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Speaking of seeing,” Tony interrupts.  “Is that a  _ metal arm? _ ” he asks, looking at Bucky’s arm.

Bucky nods and ducks his head.  

“How does it...Gods, Pierce?”

Again, Bucky nods.  “I expect I’ll lose use any day now.  He always threatened to disenchant it.”

Natasha pipes up.  “Okay, well we have a magical binder on him for now.  He can’t cast anything until we release it.”

Bucky releases a shaky sigh, and Steve catches a whiff of his relief.  He moves to take Bucky’s hand. “We’ll figure something out,” he says, leaning close to Bucky.

“It’s okay,” he says.  “Not many people get a second chance like this.  I have...enough.”

Steve grips his hands tighter.  He would go to the ends of the earth for this man, and Bucky, he would never ask him to.  

“Yeah, Bucko,” Tony pipes up.  “Just let me have a look. I have some idea.  Non-magical ideas,” he says, casting a meaningful look around the room. 

“Alright, Howard,” Steve says.  “Tell me more about this metal.”

In the end, they spend a solid week preparing.  Howard fires the metal, creating spears and swords that seem damn unbreakable.  After a brief conversation with the small council (minus Pierce, Rumlow and Rollins), they bring in Peggy, who studies both the maps and the new weaponry, and offers her advice. 

Were it any other council, any other kingdom, she may not have been heard.  But here, where the kingdom knew not only Lady Natasha and her terrifying ways, as well as the ladies Sif and Valkyrie from King Thor’s neighboring lands, Peggy was not only heard, but respected. 

The hunting party sets out just before dawn.  In the half light of the morning, Steve looks around him.  He has his best fighters, his best friends, by his side. He has the finest weaponry of any kingdom in the land (safe for the mysterious kingdom from whence it came), and he knows in his heart that if they can’t fell the Hydra, that none can.  That knowledge spurs him on, and by the time they’ve tracked the Hydra to its nest, everyone is ready. 

The fight goes on for hours, and it goes on just as before.  Each time they cut off one of its heads, another two grow in its place.  Steve had been so hopeful, but watching as his companions grow weary, and begin to tire, Steve begins to think, for the first time, that they may not beat it. 

“I have an idea,” Bucky says, and turns to Steve.  “Give me those,” he says, gesturing to Steve’s shield and sword.  “Give me those, and cover me.”

Steve does so without question.  Bucky’s fight with the hydra has been a whole different level, with the two of them seeming to dance around one another, while everyone else looks on.  As Steve, Natasha and Clint run distraction, Bucky gets in close to the Hydra. Closer maybe than anyone has before. 

Just as one of the heads notices him and turns to snap at him, he feints, then strikes hard and fast, piercing its tough hide and running his sword right through its heart.  

It staggers for a moment, lets out one terrifying roar, and then falls.  The earth trembles with its weight. 

The team lets off a riotous cheer, before Fury approaches the beast.  It’s on it’s side, panting hard, but it looks like Fury’s taking no chances.  Taking the sword from Bucky, Fury strikes at it’s gut, drawing the metal across in a long line, eviscerating the beast. 

The team cheers again, and everyone is hugging and laughing.  

“How did you do it, Buck?” Steve asks, holding his love close.  “How did you know?”

Shrugging, Bucky doesn’t give him an answer. 

With hopeful hearts, they return home, each of them careening off toward their own rooms for baths and time with their loved ones.  

When they’re in bed, Bucky tells Steve of how some instinct kicked in - he couldn’t explain it, but he could feel how the Hydra was going to move next, like he was a part of it, and it was a part of him. 

In the weeks that follow, it become clear that Pierce was controlling the Hydra.  He’d formed some kind of bond with it, feeding it soldiers, and in exchange, it allowed Pierce to take some of its blood, which he then used in all manner of elixirs and potions.  

“So I’m - I’m part of it,” Bucky says, and Steve can hear the resignation, the pain in his voice.  

“Buck, no.  Pierce might have fed you those potions, but they’ve been cycling out of your system, more and more, every day.  Soon they’ll be gone, and you’ll be just you.”

Steve meant the words to be comforting, but Bucky can’t see it that way.  

“So...does that mean I’ll turn alpha again?”  When he voices his worry, Steve takes a deep breath.

He can’t say he hadn’t thought about it.  He can’t say he hasn’t thought about it a lot.  What if Bucky becomes an alpha again? Steve is pretty certain his own change is permanent.  He hasn’t had one of Pierce’s potions in a long time. And he hasn’t felt any different since all of this began, at least not physically.

It’s Natasha who finally drags the truth out of Pierce.  Steve doesn’t ask how, but she comes to him and Bucky with the details of Pierce’s plan.  It seems taking over the throne was just the beginning. He had in mind an army, men who were built like an alpha, but with the submissive personality of an omega.  

She also learns that the potion that Steve took was designed by another wizard, one named Erskine, who had served his father long, long ago.  Erskine had been on a mission to foreign lands, searching for a potion that would help the ailing prince, when Pierce came upon him. He murdered Erskine and took the potion for himself, passing it off as his own concoction to gain Queen Sarah’s trust.  

Pierce’s own formulation, using the blood of the Hydra, was inferior.  While Bucky’s change was expected to be permanent, he retained a lot of the fight and fire of an alpha.

“Are you disappointed?” Bucky asks one night, after he and Steve had gone around and around about the proper punishment for Pierce and his people.  Some argued for death, others exile. Bucky is in the first camp, while Steve is in the latter. 

Steve looks at Bucky, and draws his partner closer to himself.  

“Am I disappointed that my mate is someone who can - and will - go head to head with me, no matter the subject?”  Leaning in, he gives Bucky a kiss to his temple. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a punk,” Bucky says.  

“Takes one to know one.  Jerk.”

.

Ultimately, Pierce decided his own fate.  He, Rollins, and Rumlow were killed during an attempted escape.  Sitwell, seeing a chance for leniency, spilled his guts to the first person who would listen.  It got him a lifetime stay in the tower, with no visitors, no entertainment, nothing but the Tomes of the Righteous for company.  He went mad in less than a year.

Steve announced his intentions to bond with Bucky during the weeks of celebration that came after the defeat of the Hydra.  Steve’s coronation as king was already scheduled for that time, so it was an easy thing to roll one celebration into the other.   King Thor and Prince Loki attended from the neighboring Kingdom, as did kings from all of the neighboring kingdoms. 

All who see Steve and Bucky together rejoiced, for what match could be more perfect?

Tony Stark came up with a design for Bucky’s arm, using both the metal that Howard Stark was gifted, and, to the amazement of all, the power of the sun.

“It’s science, not magic,” Tony says, for the hundredth time.

“It’s amazing,” is what Bucky says.  “Thank you.”

Tony raises his eyebrows as though it was nothing, but as he turns away, Bucky sees the slifht flush that rises on his cheeks.  

To the surprise of no one (other than February, whose real name, Bucky grinned to learn, was Marvin) Steve disbanded the harem.  He secured other employment for all, and was best man at Angie and Peggy’s wedding. August became a teacher for the smallest children, something that suited him immensely.  April and May became bakers, November and July found similar employment in the neighboring kingdom of Asgard, and February become a courtesan renowed throughout the lands.

“You should come by sometime,” he says to Bucky, winking.  “I’m sure I could teach you a thing or two.’ 

Bucky merey looked the man up and down, before arching a brow.  “In your dreams, sweetheart,” he says. 

“Can’t blame a boy for trying,” Februrary answers, before walking off to flirt outrageously with his next mark.

All in all, it’s a good life.

.

Steve and Bucky wed on a beautiful spring day.  They wore crowns of flowers in their hair, and while the primary ceremony was held in the King’s wood, with only their most trusted friends in attendance, there was a broader celebration for the entire kingdom.

After, the two retired to their rooms.  Bucky almost wishes they were in cycle. He would love to spend the next few days utterly lost to one another, each of them fulfilling their most basic of needs, but, it wasn’t meant to be.  Instead, when they arrive at their rooms, Steve gets excited. Bucky can smell it on him, and it’s not just excitement at finally being alone. 

“I got you something,” Steve says, and presses a kiss just below Bucky’s ear. 

He squirms on Steve’s lap, feeling Steve’s arms loose around his waist, his thumb stroking against Bucky’s side.   Bucky’s eyes flick over to the bed, where there’s a package wrapped in soft, blue silk, tied with a black ribbon. 

“Do you want to open it?” Steve asks, and Bucky closes his eyes, nods.  He loves when Steve is like this: quiet, commanding, and gentle. This is where he feels safest, nestled in his lover’s arms.

“Come on,” Steve says, and he’s eager, which is making Bucky antsy.  Whatever is in that package is going to be at least as much for Steve as it is for Bucky.  It strikes a pang of desire, low in his belly. Steve only gets this excited about one thing – putting Bucky through his paces.

With a shy smile, Bucky gets off of Steve’s lap and walks to the bed.  He runs his finger over the shiny black ribbon, rubbing the satiny softness between his thumb and forefinger.

“Well, go on,” Steve says, egging him on.  He walks over to Bucky and stands behind him.  He is a wall of warm, hard muscle, watching over Bucky’s shoulder as Bucky tugs on the ribbon.

Once it’s unraveled, he sets the ribbon aside, then pulls the package toward him.  It’s not as light as it looks, and it’s definitely not a book.

Before he can think about it anymore, Steve reaches his arms around him and pulls the silk away, leaving Bucky holding….

Oh.

_ Ohh. _

He takes a deep breath, eyes wide, fingers trailing over the soft garment in his hands.

Holding it in front of himself, he can’t help but feel his pulse quicken.  Steve’s bought him a corset. A corset!

It’s dark blue and black silk, with buckles across the waist in the front, and a mile of black silk ribbon in the back to tie it.  The boning holds it stiff, and Bucky runs his fingers over it, reverently.

“Do you like it?” Steve asks, his voice low and soft in Bucky’s ear.

“Yes,” he breathes.  “Yes, I love it. Can I…?”

“Yes, sweetheart.  Get naked for me.”

Bucky does, stripping out of his clothes, standing naked before Steve in record time.  His hair is falling in soft waves around his face and shoulders, and Steve takes the black ribbon from the package to bind it at the nape of his neck. 

“Arms up,” he whispers, then presses a soft kiss to the crook of Bucky’s neck, right over his scent glands.  Bucky shivers under the touch. 

Lifting his arms, Bucky holds the corset loose in one hand.  Steve takes it from him, stretching it wide so that Bucky can see how it works.  There is a row of small hooks holding it together in the front, and a long, black ribbon on the back that laces into a series of loops. 

Steve brings the corset around Bucky’s waist, and Bucky can already feel his excitement building.  His cock starts to harden and he takes another long, deep breath. 

“And down,” Steve says, pressing lightly on Bucky’s shoulder.

Lowering his arms, he holds the corset up with one hand, and holds himself still as Steve begins to lace him up in the back.

It’s easy at first, just a slight tightening of the fabric against his waist, his ribs.  But after the initial lacing is done, Steve sweeps the hair from the back of Bucky’s neck and lays a soft, wet kiss there.

“I need you to hold on for me now, Buck.  And let me know if it gets too tight.”

Nodding, Bucky reaches out to hold onto the bedpost, spreading his legs a little, centering himself.

Steve begins tugging and pulling at the laces, and the fabric grows tighter and tighter around him. 

“Deep breath,” Steve says, and Bucky inhales, only to feel the laces pulling tight, squeezing him around his waist. 

Blood roars in his ears and his stance widens as he feels himself growing harder.  He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of being held so tight. It’s delicious, and he wants to drown in it.

Steve must notice, judging from the soft chuckle Bucky hears.  “Almost done, sweetheart,” he says, and Bucky nods, breath coming in soft pants. 

There are a few more tugs, and when Bucky tries to inhale, he feels the way the corset is wrapped tight around him, making him feel safe and so cared for.

The first time Steve suggested something like this, Bucky balked, worrying that the confinement would be too much.  But here? Now? This isn’t Pierce holding him captive. This is Steve, his Stevie, wrapping him up and holding him tight.  There’s a helplessness to it, too: something about the binding that tells him he’s safe, that he can give up control and let Steve take him where he needs to be.

After spending years at the whims of other people, this is something he treasures.  He’s had to be on constant alert, worrying that one wrong move will get him killed- or worse.  Now, here, he’s safe with Steve. He can let go, because Steve has him, and Steve would never hurt him.

“There,” Steve says, his big hands tying the ribbon into delicate loops at the bottom of the corset.  “Let’s look at you.”

He walks Bucky to the mirror and Bucky gasps at the reflection.  The corset rests just under his pecs and the way that they’re pushed up and out – it’s gorgeous.  He raises a hand to flick across one nipple and moans at the sensation. His cock is hard and wet at the tip, his thighs looking heavy and full compared to the way his waist narrows in the corset.  Steve comes around to the front and kneels before him, tightening the buckles that run across the front, so that Bucky has to take one more deep breath, broadening his shoulders and narrowing his waist.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve says, eyes glowing with love and desire.  “Such a pretty package, all for me.”

Bucky smiles and bites his bottom lip.  There is so much promise in Steve’s eyes.  His balls tighten at the idea of what might come next.

Leaning forward, Steve swipes at the moisture on the head of Bucky’s cock with his thumb, then rises to feed it to Bucky. 

Bucky sucks Steve’s thumb in willingly, happily.  Anything to please his king.

From the way Steve’s eyes darken, he’s succeeded.

It’s only a moment before Steve brings his mouth to Bucky’s, hard and insistent, fucking his tongue into Bucky’s mouth in a promise of what’s to come.  

“Gonna get on your knees for me, baby?”  Steve’s voice is dark and thick, and Bucky drops to his knees without a second thought.   

He plants his hands on Steve’s thighs, hard and warm through his breeches.  

“Uht-uh,” Steve says.  “Do I need to bind your hands?”  

Bucky blushes hot at the words.  Like that, then. It’s going to be like that.  He feels his cock twitch at the idea, and part of him, a big part, wants to say yes.  But that’s not what Steve wants, and Bucky wants to please him more than he wants to be bound.  

Instead, he holds his hands behind his back, gripping his right wrist loose with his left fingers.  It will be enough to remind him not to use his hands, enough to remember that all he has to do is trust Steve, and Steve will make everything alright. 

Sitting up a bit on his knees, he opens his mouth, tongue lying his bottom lip, waiting. 

He knows it’s a bit of a tease, letting his tongue out like that, but he also knows it will goad Steve into being a little bit rougher than he otherwise might be. 

“Look at you,” Steve says, his voice still dark and silky.  “Aren’t you the prettiest thing?”

He steps forward and runs his thumb along Bucky’s lower lip, wetting his thumb on the tip of Bucky’s tongue.  

“And so sweet for me, aren’t you?”  He dips his thumb into Bucky’s mouth and Bucky sucks, still not sure if Steve’s going to tease him a while longer or not.  He gives Steve’s thumb a light nip, knowing it will speed things along. 

Steve pulls his thumb back with a hiss, looking at it like he’s been injured - a bit of playacting that Bucky has to work very hard not to smirk at. They both know better. 

“Alright,” Steve says, shoving his pants down with one hand and pulling his cock free with the other.  “If that’s how you want it. Suck.”

Opening his mouth and leaning forward, Bucky does exactly that.  He takes Steve’s cock in his mouth and sucks. He tongues the tip, dipping into the slit on each pass, pressing the head between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, creating more pressure.  Above him, Steve sighs his pleasure. 

“Gods, you’re so good at that.”  Steve threads his fingers through Bucky’s hair, loosing it from the bit of ribbon and gathering it atop Bucky’s head.  He thrusts, shallow, letting Bucky get used to the change in rhythm, but he doesn’t need to bother. Bucky knows Steve’s rhythm, knows his scent, knows how fast and how far he’ll thrust, knows his taste, knows  _ Steve, _ as well as he’ll ever know anyone, including himself. 

Steve picks up the pace and Bucky’s ready.  He leans into it as much as he can, but trusts in Steve, in the hold that Steve has on him, and lets Steve do the work.  Steve thrusts, and Bucky takes it. 

It isn’t long before Steve starts pushing deeper, and Bucky feels him pushing at the back of his throat.  Relaxing his muscles and loosening his jaw, he allows the intrusion, and on the next thrust, he feels Steve push into his throat.  

It’s always heady, these moments, when he is nothing more than what Steve wills him to be, empty, waiting for Steve to fill him up. It’s gorgeous and he sinks into it, timing his breathing even as he feels a line of drool slip from his mouth and down his chin.  

Steve presses into his throat, once, twice, then holds, and Bucky loves it.  He loves knowing that he has Steve inside of him, and he loves giving himself to Steve’s wants.  His needs. 

Soon - sooner than Bucky would have thought - Steve’s hips begin to stutter.  Bucky tastes the salty surge of precome and then his mouth fills with Steve’s load, and he swallows and swallows until Steve pulls away, pulls him up, and kisses him deep, sucking on his tongue and chasing the taste of himself. 

When he pulls away and looks at Bucky, he’s wearing that dazed look that Bucky loves - the one that says he’s been taken by surprise, and that he loves it.  

Kissing Bucky again, this time slower, deeper, more steady, Steve wraps his arms tight around Bucky before bending to pick him up and carrying him over to the bed.   Bucky’s breathing hard by the time Steve breaks the kiss, and he sighs as Steve finally pulls away.

As Bucky lays back on the cool sheets, he can’t help but preen a little under Steve’s gaze.  Steve is looking at him like he’s torn between devouring him and treasuring him.

“See something you like?” Bucky asks, and grins as Steve’s eyes widen. 

“Cocky, are we?” Steve asks, and Bucky looks down at his leaking erection in response.  “Oh, you are in for it,” Steve says in response, then walks back over to the big chair in front of the mirror.

“Well?” he asks, over his shoulder.  “You going to keep me waiting?”

Bucky’s pulse quickens as he scrambles off the bed.  He hadn’t been angling for a punishment, but he’ll take it. 

He lays himself across Steve’s lap, ass sticking up even as his cock rubs uncomfortably against Steve’s breeches.  Steve reaches out and rubs a hand against Bucky’s ass, squeezing one cheek and brushing his fingers along the seam between them.

“How many?” Steve asks.  “How many for your impertinence to your prince?” 

Bucky thinks about it, body warming at the thought of Steve’s big, heavy hand striking his bottom, and sighs with anticipation. 

“Ten,” he says.  “Is ten enough?”

“Mmmm,” Steve answers.  “With another five for your brazenness.  Walking around here like that,” he mutters.  “All trussed up, putting yourself on display.”

Bucky gasps at the unfairness.  He’s not the one who laced himself into a corset, who made him stand in front of the mirror and look at himself.  But then Steve lands the first blow, and Bucky forgets everything other than the growing warmth on his bottom and his desire for more. 

By the time Steve hits seven, Bucky is pushing back into his hand, voicing soft little grunts with every hit.

“You like this too much,” Steve says, dipping his thumb between Bucky’s cheeks, pressing it against his hole.  “Even when I punish you, you’re still so sweet for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Bucky breathes, his body strung tight with need. “Yes, Highness.”

Steve chuckles and runs a hand down Bucky’s side, tickling. 

Bucky’s about to protest when Steve’s hand comes down hard and fast, pushing a moan out of him.

From there, it’s a few short, hard smacks and then Steve is rubbing his palm against Bucky’s ass, murmuring endearments as Bucky blinks away the wetness that’s gathered on his lashes.  He’s always torn when they do this - like his body doesn’t quite know how to react. It wants more of Steve’s warm, heavy hand on his skin, even as it rains sharp, stinging blows. It gets him out of his head like nothing else ever has.  He revels in it. He doesn’t quite know what Steve gets out of this, but he’s grateful, because he loves it.

“Okay?” Steve asks, and Bucky groans, pushing his ass up into Steve’s hand.  “Alright,” Steve answers, a chuckle in his voice. 

Bucky turns in his lap and then Steve is standing, carrying Bucky back over to the bed.  He lays him down and kisses him, soft and then deep, until Bucky is panting, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and holding him closer.

“Easy, baby,” Steve says, as he eases away.  “Look at how pretty you look. Gonna make this so good for you.”

He kisses down Bucky’s neck and shoulders, stops at his chest and stays there long enough for Bucky to start whining and moaning, thrusting up into the air as he tries to get some friction on his leaking cock.

“Am I going to need to tie you down?” Steve murmurs.

Bucky looks at him, eyes wide, and imagines it – his wrists bound, Steve pounding into him, and him helpless to do anything but take it.  It sounds like freedom.

Steve grins.  “Mmm…next time then?”

Bucky nods and smiles, catching is bottom lip between his teeth. 

“In the meantime,” Steve says, “I want you to keep your hands above your head.  You can hold on to the headboard, but try not to break it?”

The plates in Bucky’s arm whir and click as he flexes his fingers.  “I’ll try,” he says, already grinning. 

Steve grabs the phial of oil and coats his fingers before sliding between Bucky’s legs.  

Bucky loves this part too, the way that Steve opens him up, gets him ready for whatever it is that Steve wants to give him.  Sometimes he’ll give Bucky the minimum amount of prep, just enough so that there’s not pain, but there’s a sting and a burn with the stretch.  Sometimes he doesn’t fuck Bucky at all - just fucks between his thighs or the cleft of his ass, coming on Bucky’s skin and leaving him unsatisfied.  

Sometimes, and he thinks today will be one of those times, Steve takes his time opening Bucky up.  He fingers him and fingers him until he comes and comes and comes again, groaning as Bucky’s muscles contract around him, taking him higher and higher until all he is is all the places where their bodies join.  Those are the best days, and Bucky’s dick twitches again in anticipation. 

 

Two hours later, Bucky’s all but sobbing.  Steve’s had him on the edge of his fourth orgasm for so long now that he feels like the world has become nothing more than that singular need. It almost hurts, how much he needs it.  He’s shaking with it. 

“Please,” he gasps, grinding his fingers into Steve’s forearm.  He has three - or is it four? - fingers buried deep inside of Bucky, with the fingers of his other hand wrapped tight around Bucky’s cock, holding his orgasm back for him. 

He doesn’t know if he should wail or sigh when Steve starts to wind him back down, withdrawing some of his fingers, gently massaging Bucky’s balls, letting his heart rate taper down. 

“Steve,” he says, blinking at him through wet lashes.  God, he’s so strung out for this man. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Steve says, and looks up Bucky’s body from where he’s nestled between his legs.  The corset is ruined, covered in three of Bucky’s orgasms, and it looks so gloriously debauched that Bucky never wants to take it off.  He loves it when Steve wrecks him, and he is completely wrecked. 

“I know,” Steve says again.  “You’re being so good for me, so patient.  I know what you need, and I’m gonna give it to you, baby.  I can let you come now,” he says, and Bucky takes a gulp of air with relief.  “Or you can wait for me, baby. You are so loose and sweet right now, and I,” he says, reaching down to stroke his own cock, “I have to be inside of you.”  His voice is half apology, half need. “So what’s it going to be,” he asks, nudging against Bucky’s hole with his cock. “Do you want it now, or are you going to wait for me?”

And oh.  Oh. What Steve is asking is torture.  If he comes right now, then Steve will stroke him through it, fuck him while he’s over stimulated, while it hurts, and if he’s lucky, he won’t get hard again, but he’ll have relief.  

But if he waits...if he waits.  He’ll have Steve pounding into him, cycling him up higher and higher, and this time when he comes it will be with Steve’s big cock inside of him, Steve filling him up, knotting him, and Steve gentling him down. 

“Wait,” he gasps.  “Just - get inside me.”

“So bossy,” Steve says, and pushes all the way inside in a single thrust.

It’s - Gods - it’s glorious.  As much as he loves Steve’s big, thick fingers inside of him, nothing satisfies like his cock - so hard and velvet smooth - when he’s inside of Bucky, Bucky feels like he could fly if he had to, like he is everything he was ever  _ meant _ to be.  Like he’s  _ home _ . 

When he looks up at Steve, he sees the same rapturous look that he knows he wears, that same awe that anything could feel this good, that something could fit so perfect, feel so right. 

They rock together, and he knows it’s because Steve needs a second to get his bearings, before Steve draws back, pulling Bucky up by his thighs, making him feel small and helpless, even though he knows he isn’t.  It’s one of the things he loves best - the way that Steve can make him feel small, not like a weapon or a machine, not like a fighting thing at all. 

As Steve starts to pound into him, Bucky forgets to think.  Steve’s hitting his spot pretty often, but not often enough for Bucky to come just from that, and he knows that’s on purpose too.  Everything Steve does in on purpose, with intention, and it’s only one of the reasons Bucky loves him so much. 

“Steve!” he calls out, his body starting to bow, beginning to tremble all over again. 

“Oh, hell,” Steve says, as his hips begin to snap harder, faster. “Show me, baby,” he says, looking down.

Bucky is pinned by that gaze, seeing the same urgency, same need that he feels.  He reaches for his cock, knowing already that it won’t take long, and it doesn’t.  Within seconds it seems he’s coming - hard and fast and shattered, loving the way his body clamps down on Steve, the groan it pulls from him, the way that his fingers and toes go numb with it. 

“Buck, Gods,” Steve pants, and then he does it.

He rubs his face over Bucky’s neck and he licks, and then he bites.  

Bucky arches hard, and he’s coming again, coming out of nowhere, he wasn’t even ready, when Steve clamps down then growls.

“Oh,” Bucky pants, and he feels it - the bond.  

It wraps around him, wraps around Steve, and from one moment to the next, he’s alone inside of his skin, and then the bond is there.  It’s a soft, reassuring presence, telling him that Steve is there, that Steve loves him, and that everything is alright. 

It’s gorgeous and Bucky never wants it end.  Then he jolts when he realizes it never will. 

There’a a growl above him and then Steve is coming, his knot popping like it did all those years ago, their very first time, locking them together and holding them close.  

It’s the best thing Bucky’s ever known, and it’s his. 

When he’s finally really aware of himself again, he’s breathing deep, heaving breaths, and no wonder - he’s got Steve collapsed on top of him, the weight a nuisance and a treasure. 

“I love you,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s hairline.  He shifts up onto his elbows and Bucky looks up into his eyes.

This man.  He has known and  _ loved _ this man for most of his life, back when they were boys and each other’s dearest friends, back when they didn’t even know who the other was.  When they’d found each other once again, each needing and wanting and not knowing how to ask. 

Bucky used to think that if Pierce had chosen anyone else, his plan may have succeeded, but then he thinks, no.  Steve wouldn’t have loved anyone the way he loves Bucky, would have ended anyone else when he thought they’d betrayed him, and no one but Bucky could have fought by his side, and helped him defeat the Hydra.  

In the end, it was always going to be the two of them, and Pierce was always destined to fail. 

When Steve’s knot finally releases and he rolls to the side, he pulls Bucky with him, tugging him close, making him feel safe. 

Bucky reflects on their life together.  Steve is a wonderful King, and the kingdom, that once may have balked at their King choosing a male for his partner, is joyful at the union, knowing that their King is protected by a fierce and loyal fighter, whose skills, talent, and strengths match the King’s own.  

Two years ago, Bucky hardly remembered his own name.  Now he is loved by a good man - the best man - by his family, who he’d long ago thought lost, and by a people who rejoice at seeing one of their own raised to such great heights.

And none of that matters, he knows.  Not the fine clothes or the good steel or the beautiful flowers they lay at his feet.  He would be a penniless pauper, scraping for food and shelter, so long as he has Steve by his side.

That has never changed, and indeed, never will. 

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Steve says, pressing a kiss against Bucky’s neck, right over his scent glands.  He nestles there a lot, breathing Bucky in. Bucky loves it.

“We are going to be so happy,” he says, looking up at Steve.  

Steve looks down and smiles at him, one of those brilliant, blinding smiles that makes Bucky feels ten times warmer, like a cat in the sun. 

“We already are,” Steve says, and leans down to brush a soft kiss against his lip.

_ Yes, _ Bucky thinks.   _ We already are.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here you have it. My first ABO fic. I hope it wasn't terribad! 
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you who read with me as I posted. Your kudos and comments really powered me through the final stages of this fic, and I am so, so grateful. 
> 
> At one point, I had a lot more plotted out for this story, but time took a toll, as it does. There's a (slim) chance that I'll revisit this and add in all the other things that were in my head. 
> 
> Next up, I'll be working on my MCU Kink Bingo card, and, if the idea gets picked up, possibly writing for the Cap Big Bang.
> 
> Thank you again to the wonderful mods of this bang. It is always a treat, and I am so grateful for the hard work they do on our behalf. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Chicklette: Musingsofaqueergeek was good enough to give this a preread and offer some really invaluable feedback when I was writing this. I am very grateful for her support.
> 
> Goldblooded is a goddess. Not only is she an incredibly talented writer (you have no idea you guys. None.), she is also a profound sounding board, amazing prereader, and pinch-hit beta of my dreams. You are amazing!! love ya, babes!!
> 
> I am chicklette on tumblr. Come say hey. :)


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